The Raven Boy
by NathalyAnne
Summary: When Linette was young, she dreamt of love. Now, her dreams are simpler. Harder. There's only one thing she truly desires: Safety. Of any sort, from any sort. Even the dangerous, deformed man she found in the woods. Sandor Clegane. Trading protection for coin isn't the worst thing she could do. Anything goes here because anything can happen in Westeros. Only the strong survive.
1. Light in the Darkness

**Chapter 1: Light in the Darkness**

When Linette was young she dreamt of love. It wasn't the famous kind, though, not an all-conquering passion to fill the pages of story books, but the simple kind of love. A small burning flame rather than the fiery passions of the great romances. She dreamt of little cottages and children's laughter, a fireplace to bake bread and a good man to warm both her heart and her body when they grew cold.

Linette was sure those dreams were still in her. Somewhere. Buried deep. She'd long since given up on them. Her dreams now were far simpler, yet somehow more unattainable than ever. Truly, there was only one thing which her heart desired.

Safety. Of any sort. From any sort. She would take it in any form as long as she could stop running, stop hiding. She dreamt of the day where she could sit in an open field, lay in a bed of leaves on the forest floor and not be terrified to close her eyes...

Today, however, is not that day.

She sprints through the forest as fast as her legs can carry her. Branches scratch her face and hands as she scrambles through the thick underbrush. Her breath comes out in quick puffs in the cold air as she pushes herself to run faster.

"The lil' bitch can run cain't she!"

The men's cackling echoes behind her. Terror rushes through her veins, pushing her faster. The forest is becoming thinner and thinner which is never a good sign. Soon she'll reach the end, either to find a river, a field, a cliff, or something that equally sentences her to the mercy of the men behind her. She won't stop though. She can't. She has to keep going no matter where it takes her.

"Please, gods," she prays, seeing the forest opening up ahead, "Let it be something good. Please."

The plea passes her lips just as she bursts through the last line of trees. A curse immediately follows. A tall, sturdy looking stone wall stands in front of her, stretching for what seems like miles to both the east and the west. Her pace slows for barely a second before she forces the aching muscles in her legs to pump faster.

"No stopping now," she grits her teeth and throws herself into the air. Her feet leave the ground, her hands flailing, desperate to grab onto something. She hits the wall clumsily. Her left hand skims the top but leaves with only a fistful of crumbling stones.

"No, no, no!" she slips back down. Her feet dig into the wall, trying to find any hold she can. Dirt rains down as her right hand catches hold of a thorny vine. She clings to it for dear life, trying to hoist herself up and over the wall.

"Lookee here, boys, we got a climber!" Large, rough hands wrap around her ankle.

"Get off me!" she screams desperately, kicking out at anything she can. It doesn't help. Another pair of hands grabs her other foot and she's quickly yanked off the wall. The thorny vine rips into her palm before her back slams onto the ground.

"Told ya you weren't gonna get far, cunt." A man crouches down to hover over her. His mouth is curled up in a sickening grin, all yellowing teeth and sinful intentions.

Linette wastes no time to spit in his face. It hits him dead center of that awful grin. The look of surprise and disgust is almost satisfying, but his lips twist into something more sinister. He runs a hand angrily over his face, wiping her spit off.

"You're gonna pay for that," he snarls.

Suddenly, someone is taking hold of her wrist. Her hand is swiftly pinned above her head and reality punches her in the gut, leaving terror in its wake.

"No!" she lashes out with her other hand, swinging her fist around and back. There's a satisfying crunch as she makes contact with what feels like a nose. The grip on her wrist disappears. She ignores the flame of pain in her knuckles and jumps to her feet.

Stumbling for a moment, her dark grey eyes skim over her surroundings. There's the cursing man on the ground clutching his bleeding nose, then the man she spat at, and two others standing ready. One behind her, one in front. Her heart sinks. She can't run. She quickly reaches down and scoops a rock off the ground. It's large and rough in her hand. She brandishes it high above her head in the weakest display of defense she's sure anyone has ever seen. One of the men chuckles.

"Put that down before you hurt yourself."

She turns toward him and threateningly pulls her arm back, ready to throw it at him at a moment's notice.

"She can't take all of us," the first man speaks evenly. The man she spit on. Her eyes fly to him. She watches nervously as he pulls himself to his full height and rolls the tension out of his neck. "Just a pretty little thing. Barely big enough to hold that there rock."

"Yet, I am holding it," she spits, fire in her eyes, "and I sure as hell can bring it down on your face."

He shrugs, "Maybe, but that ain't the only thing that's going on my face today. I'm gonna have you one way or another. You going easy or hard?"

Sweat coats her hands. She shuffles backward and swallows thickly, but her arm doesn't lower.

"Hard it is," the man's grin widens. He runs his tongue over his lips, "I was hopin' for that."

Fear burns in Linette's chest as the men advance toward her like predators teasing their prey. She backs up. Her eyes fly over them, trying to decide who the best option to attack first is.

The leader, she quickly decides. She fixes her sights on him and raises her arm, ready to fight. If she's going down, she's doing it her way.

The man is only a couple steps away when a column of fire suddenly rips through his chest.

Linette watches, wide eyed, as blood drips from his mouth and onto his chin. A gurgling sound rumbles from his throat, his hands fumbling toward the hole in his chest, before the fire disappears entirely. His body falls.

"What the fuck?!" One of the other men exclaims, his voice shaking.

Although Linette is thinking the same thing, she can't bring herself to move.

She looks at the dead man's body for one more moment before she turns toward the other men. Their backs face her now as they stare incredulously at a man standing over the dead leader's body. He's tall, with greying, red hair that's pulled into a bun on the top of his head. A thick bear skin cape lays over his shoulders. Linette's eyes fall past his gloved hands to the column of fire. It covers the blade of a sword. A sword the man is holding.

"Leave here and I'll spare you," he tells the men. His voice is firm yet quiet, just loud enough for those around him to hear.

"The fuck you think you are?!" One of the attackers snarls, taking a threatening step toward the flame wielder.

"Last chance," he says, his blue eyes settling on each man in turn. The first man scoffs heavily.

"Think we're gonna scuttle along just cause you tell us to?" He draws his own blade, holding it out toward the new-comer. The other two men follow the example and brandish their own weapons.

The first attacker smirks evilly, his eyes gleaming. "Three against one. We ain't pussies, but you're about to be."

The red-haired man sighs. His eyes jump to Linette where she stands by the wall, her rock still held high over her head. The moment their eyes meet, she knows what he wants from her. She nods without hesitation.

His eyes leave her, and he attacks. She doesn't waste any time either.

Adrenaline courses through her veins as she runs forward and crashes the rock over the nearest man's head. A sickening crack sounds just before he crumples to the floor, his sword clattering on the rocks underfoot. She sees the fire of the flaming blade as it flies through the air, slicing into the other two men as if they are nothing but soft cheese. Her gut lurches. She doesn't doesn't allow herself to get distracted by it though. Without slowing, she slams the rock down again on the man laying in front of her. The forest floor around him is soon coated in blood. Swirls of crimson paint the autumn leaves.

Panting, she lets the sticky, red rock roll out of her hand. Her eyes linger on the body before her, a sudden empty feeling taking over. She's had to kill before, sure, but she never enjoys it. It leaves a twisted, gnawing feeling in her gut.

"Are you alright, little lady?" the flame wielder's voice calls out to her.

Startled, she turns toward him, her movements almost too quick for her brain to catch up with. Her feet catch on a rock and she stumbles backward. Her back hits the wall roughly.

"Easy," the man soothes, seeing her alarm, and takes a step toward her. She flinches away. He stops immediately, his hands held out in a sign of peace.

"I won't hurt you, little lady. No reason to be frightened."

"I'm not a lady," she mumbles, still breathing hard. It takes a second to calm herself, but soon her heart slows and her head clears. She looks up at the man.

He inches closer to her but stops at a respectable distance. Gone is his flaming sword. She can still see its handle from its place on his belt, just barely peeking out of his bear skin, but it's sheathed. That gives her some comfort.

"Any maiden is a lady to me." He smiles then. It's a nice, yet foreign sight. Linette can't remember the last time someone has shown her the kindness. Her own lips twitch upward.

"You must consider yourself quite valiant," she says, feeling herself relax in this stranger's company. He chuckles deeply.

"I do try," he bows a little at the waist, more in jest than anything else. After eyeing Linette for a moment, he clears his throat and thrusts his hand out, covering half the distance between them.

"Thoros of Myr. To whom do I owe the pleasure?"

She eyes his outstretched hand warily. Is it a wise decision to accept this stranger? She knows she should probably run far, far away, but something makes her stay. Before she can lose her nerve, she steps forward and places her hand in his. Warmth radiates off his glove and she wonders if it is from him or his sword.

"Linette of House Breton," she says, tilting her head up a little to see him properly. He squeezes her hand gently before letting go.

"What's a little lady like you doing way out here?" He eyes her appearance curiously.

She blushes, suddenly self-conscious in her oversized clothes and scuffed riding boots. Her hands tug awkwardly at the ill-fitting tunic which practically covers her knees, trying to smooth out the wrinkles from too many nights sleeping in trees.

"I've just been running..." she mutters quietly, giving a weak shrug of her shoulders.

Thoros turns to kick one of the bodies near him, "Running from these bastards? Or something else?"

"Both."

"Mmm," his eyes are back on her, intrigued, "and how'd you get to running? Don't you have a home to get back to? Someone to look after you?"

His piercing, blue eyes suddenly feel too intense. Like he can somehow see into her. She averts her gaze to the treeline behind him, feeling far too exposed.

"I used to," she says, her voice harsher than she truly means, "but it's all gone now."

Thoros nods solemnly.

"It is the way of the world, I'm afraid," he says, his voice firm yet gentle, "Everything has it's time. The Lord calls all things to himself when they are due."

Linette frowns before turning to face him, "You still believe in all that?"

"It is the only thing I believe in."

"What about Death?" she snorts, "You believe in Death, don't you?"

His eyes are on her again, firmer and more intense than before. She swallows thickly. Something about that gaze makes her feel childish.

"Faith is only needed for what we cannot see," his voice is barely above a whisper, "and I've seen far too much of death. I don't need to believe in it when it haunts me so."

Though Linette doesn't want to hear them, his words ring true. Tears prick in the corner of her eyes.

"It haunts me as well," she meets his gaze as firmly as she can. His stoney expression softens, his lips turning up gently.

"Then we must find some light in the darkness, yes?"

She wants to agree, but suddenly finds it difficult to nod her head. She's been searching for a 'light', as he put it, for so long but it has always evaded her. The longer she looks, the more darkness she sees. She has a gnawing, gut-wrenching suspicion that there is no light left in this world. At least not for her.

"Do you have somewhere to go, Linette?" Thoros' voice pulls her from my musings.

Her eyes snap to meet his and she's suddenly all too aware of the fact that they're completely alone. That she's completely alone, standing across from a giant stranger with a flaming sword. She takes a cautious step back. Her face must have given her emotions away because Thoros holds his hands up, away from him and away from the sword.

"I mean you no harm, lass," he repeats, his voice sounding sincere. She narrows her eyes at him all the same. He seems amused by that.

"If wanted to hurt you, why would I prolong it?" he asks.

"Pleasure," she says, knowing the answer immediately.

"I could have that too, if I wanted, but I don't. I simply wish to see you safe."

Her breath catches at that.

Safe.

Flashes of cottages and fresh baked bread creep into her mind.

"Why?" she snarls, forcing those dreams away. She grows even more defensive than before. "Why would you care about my safety?"

"It is the right thing to do."

She falters for only a moment, "Well, that's foolish! You could have died. Those men could have killed you. I could kill you."

He laughs a deep, rumbling belly laugh, "Little thing like you? Lass, the Lord of Light would have to put all his power in you to have you winning any sort of fight."

She grits her teeth. Anger flickers in her, but she quickly squashes it out.

"I don't need your help," she says defiantly, her fingers finding the handle of the dagger on her belt. Thoros grins. He eyes her in amusement, his hands still far away from his own weapon.

"Looked like you needed helpin' earlier," he says, "Don't I get a thank you for that?"

Her jaw clenches for one more moment before a gust of air passes her lips. The sigh flutters the pale, silver colored hairs around her face.

"Thank you." The words come out hard, but she means them. Without him she'd be worse than dead. She purposefully relaxes her body, wanting him to see her gratitude. "I appreciate your assistance, Thoros, truly, but I need to go."

"Alright, little lady. Understood."

He gives her an honest smile before his hand disappears under the thick, bear-skinned cape around his shoulders. She tenses immediately. In one motion, her feet have shuffled into a defensive stance, her dagger held out in front of her. Thoros eyes her and chuckles happily.

"Calm, girl," he orders, his hand reappearing from underneath his cape. A small, brown bundle hangs from his fingers.

"Here."

He tosses the bundle toward her. It lands with a soft thud not far from her feet. She can see now that it's a sack cloth. The folds are open, jostled by Thoros' throw, and peaking out is a small assortment of berries, cheeses, and dried meats. Linette's mouth waters at the sight.

"It's not much," he shrugs, "but it'll carry you over for a couple weeks maybe. If you ration it well, that is."

She nods dumbly, too shocked to take her eyes off the gift she's just been given. Thoros' throaty chuckle is the only reason she looks up again. He's grinning ear to ear now.

"What? I don't get a thank you for that either?"

"Thank you," she rushes to say the words. She's not sure if she's ever been this grateful in her whole life.

"Don't get sappy on me now, lass," he says uncomfortably, seeing her eyes grow misty. She laughs and quickly wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Thank you, Thoros. For everything."

"Nothing to write home about, little lady. Just stay safe, alright? No more traipsin' about in the woods all lonesome like. The wolves might get you next time."

Linette nods as she scoops up the bundle of food on the ground.

"I'll be careful."

"Good," he gives a sharp nod, seeming reassured by her words.

"I'll be seeing you again," he turns on his heel, heading toward the forest again, nothing visible of him other than his coat and a shaggy bun of hair on the back of his head, "You can repay me for the food then."

She's too busy frowning to say anything back. How could he possibly know that they'd see each other again? He's probably mad, she decides. Just a crazy man with a flaming sword.

Shaking her head, she turns away from where he'd disappeared through the trees. Her back is to him, the wall in front of her again. Her heart sinks to the deepest pits it knows. It's just her now. Running again. Alone. Who knew what was waiting on the other side of that wall. She sure doesn't. All she knows is that it will be something new, that she'll be that much further from what she's left behind. Maybe this time, it will stay there instead of following.

"Come on, Linette," she mumbles to herself before forcing her legs to move, "The only place you can go is forward. No stopping now."

When she jumps this time, she catches hold of the wall. Her palm stings from the scrape she got earlier, but she manages to hoist herself to the top anyway. She swings her leg over the edge, one half of her body on each side, but she can't seem to take the leap.

Almost of its own accord, her head turns to look behind her. The cold forest, the North, and her home. What's left of it at least. It's easy to turn away this time. She looks in the other direction. In front of her is a field, the Riverlands somewhere far beyond, and, hopefully, something new. Something better.

She holds onto that thought as she slides off the edge of the wall. Her feet land clumsily, but she quickly rights herself.

"Maybe I will find some light, Thoros," she whispers, both to him and herself, before striding forward.


	2. Sharing the Fire

**Chapter 2: Sharing the Fire**

 _The fire is everywhere. Orange and red and hungry, licking the air like the tongue of a starving animal. Her lungs burn as she runs through the streets. Pain flares in her side with every step but she knows she mustn't slow. The screams of women, children, and men alike tell her as much. That, and the sound of steel against steel. Men's chortling, laughing at the massacre they've created. No. She mustn't slow._

 _The hem of her dress is tattered and covered in cinders by the time she reaches home. A small sigh of relief passes her lips to see that the fire has not touched it, but the relief dies as soon as it is born. The front door is hanging off its hinges. Her mother's favorite pots lay shattered on the steps._

 _"Mother!" she screams, unable to think clearly as she takes the stairs two at a time, "Father! Toman! Darris!"_

 _She calls out to them as she bursts into the house. The first thing she sees is the ruin. Her family doesn't have much, but seeing everything they own scattered on the floor makes it seem otherwise. She steps through glass and splinters of their dining table to see the backdoor wide open. Her father's workshop stands across the path behind the house._

 _It seems to take an eternity for her to reach the shop. Angry voices echo from inside, followed immediately by that sickening, evil laughter she'd heard throughout the village. Her feet slow, her chest rising and falling so quickly that she grows dizzy._

 _Someone inside screams. It's masculine and filled with so much raw agony that she comes to a full stop, only a few feet from the door. If she stretched her hand out, her fingers would brush the wood._

 _"Please," her heart lurches at the sound of her father's voice, sounding weaker and more sorrowful than she's ever heard, "I don't have anything left."_

 _His scream sounds again. The most horrid sound she's ever heard. She covers her mouth with her hands to keep herself from crying out._

 _"Now, we know that's not true," this man's voice is gravelly and impatient, "My men found these pretty little dresses in your house. Don't tell me they're yours, old man."_

 _"They're my wife's."_

 _"That fat bitch couldn't fit into these clothes if she tried!" A chorus of rough laughter follows before the man speaks again. "So, you tell me where your daughter is and we'll be on our way. Making us wait is only gonna make us angry."_

 _Terror fills Linette's veins. They're looking for her. The reasons for that crash over her like a wave in the iciest of seas. Her hands begin to shake. Tears coat her fingers as she struggles to keep herself quiet._

 _"Fine," the man says nonchalantly when her father remains silent, "we'll get it out of you eventually."_

 _Someone clears their throat roughly, then spits, "Just kill us you bastards, we're not telling you anything."_

 _Darris. Her eldest brother sounds so strong. She suddenly feels shame for standing out here, crying and shaking on the steps while her family suffers. Gritting her teeth, she reaches her hand toward the door._

 _"I'd rather die than let you mongrels have her!" Toman's voice makes her still, hand outstretched._

 _"Then die you shall," the man's voice is accompanied by the sound of a sword unsheathing, "Just know that when we're done with you, when the flies are eatin' the eyes outta your head, we'll be with your pretty little sister. She'll be more fun than your mum, that's for sure."_

 _Darris screams, a cry of rage and sorrow. There's a commotion inside, shattering and crashing. It's almost as if the walls are shaking._

 _Linette pulls her hand away, wrapping her arms around her middle as she cries. Her father and brothers are dying for her and she can't do anything to help. As much as she wants to go in, to stand and die with them, she knows she can't. It would be a waste of their lives. Of the sacrifice they so clearly wish to give._

 _"I love you," she whispers, wishing so desperately that they could hear her._

 _One of her brothers screams, filled with pain now instead of anger. She lets out a watery hiccup and closes her eyes tightly. She thinks of other things as she turns her back to them._

 _Suddenly, two large hands slam onto her shoulders. Her eyes fly open with terror. In front of her is a man. He wears battle armor stained red. A lion's head sits in the middle of his breastplate. His dark eyes stare down at her, a twisted grin on his lips._

 _"Lookie here, boys!" he calls to the men in the shop, his eyes never leaving Linette's, "I found the cunt!"_

 _She comes to her senses then and desperately thrashes against him, pushing at his arms, kicking his shins and anywhere else she can reach. It does nothing. The commotion in the shop stills. She hears the door slam open behind her._

 _"Bring her on in!" They call, laughing that horrible laugh again. Her brothers are screaming now, telling her to run, to fight, but she can't. The man yanks her through the threshold as if she's nothing more than a straw doll._

 _The door slams behind her. She's shoved forward, tripping over her own feet and the debris on the floor, until she's standing face to face with a man. The leader, she assumes. He's slim and balding. His breath tickles her face, smelling of ale and rotten food. He reaches out to caress her cheek with his knuckles. She recoils but his touch follows her._

 _"Hey there, pretty lass," he sneers, "We've been lookin' for you."_

* * *

Linette wakes up gasping.

A familiar, cold sweat covers her pale, freckled skin. Tears run down her cheeks as they always do when she wakes. She angrily wipes them away with her forearm. Her hands grip the tree limb she's lying on when she feels herself tipping over the side. Steadying herself, she leans back against the thick trunk. Her heavy breaths shake her body as she digs her nails into the bark.

She turns to see the sun just peeking over the horizon. Dancing rays of orange, pink, and yellow fill the sky. In another time she might think it beautiful. Now, all she sees is the beginning of another day.

Shoving the images of her dream to the back of her mind, she slings her pack over her shoulder and slips off the branch she'd used for her bed. Her feet expertly guide her down the limbs until she reaches the forest floor. She dusts herself off before heading in the direction of the river.

Five and a half days have passed since she'd been rescued by Thoros and it turns out she doesn't ration well. Not at all. His bundle of food is almost completely gone now, nothing left but a few handful of berries and five strips of meat.

"Couple of weeks my ass…" she grumbles, unwrapping the bundle to pop a couple berries in her mouth. She's more irritated with herself than him of course. He'd done more than enough. It was her who failed. Like always.

Muttering to herself, Linette tosses her hood over her head. She'd learned quickly of the danger of walking around simply as she is. Though she's small in stature, her womanly curves cannot be hidden by any amount of men's clothing, especially from the eyes of said men.

She stole the cloak from an inn somewhere near The Twins in the Riverlands. The innkeeper was so drunk that Linette knew he wouldn't notice the simple missing item. The brown cloak is thick and much too big for her petite frame. It brushes her ankles as she walks. Yet, she doesn't mind. It gives her the warmth and protection she needs.

It's not long before she sets sight on the river she's been searching for. The Blackwater tributary is wide, stretching up through the Riverlands and eventually leading to the Reach and the Crownlands beyond that. She's immensely grateful for the distance. She doesn't dare cross into the Crownlands. The image of a lion stamped breastplate enters her mind and she immediately wants to put more distance between herself and the lands beyond the river. If she travels quickly, she might see the Reach by tomorrow.

After jumping in the icy water to cleanse the dirt off her skin and clothes, she's on her way again. She walks swiftly, as quietly as a doe on new soil, and keeps her head down. It wouldn't do well for someone to see her face. There would be too many questions, or not any questions at all.

She clutches the folds of her hood beneath her chin to keep it in place, not letting go until she sees the Blackwater tributary. The wide rapids cross her path and rush onward to the left, continuing into the hills and further into the Riverlands until it reaches the border to the Reach somewhere she can't see.

A brilliant smile stretches across on her face.

Without breaking stride, she wades into the rapid current. Ice cold water cover her, feeling like pins on her skin, and she begins shivering immediately. Her cloak weighs her down, but not dangerously so. She's an excellent swimmer. That, and she's too determined to give up now for any reason, temperatures or weight be damned.

Slowly, but steadily, she swims across the rapids. It takes her awhile to cross, but after being tossed about for the better part of an hour, she finally reaches the edge. Her soaking, pale-gold hair sticks to her face and neck as she hauls herself onto the banks of the Riverlands. She falls onto her back, breathing hard and smiling at the darkening sky above her.

"I made it..." she breathes. It feels almost euphoric to lay where she's been trying to get to for who knows how long. She takes a long, relieved breath in and allows herself to close her eyes for one blessed second, drinking in the feeling.

The second ends almost immediately. A wolf howls in the distance. Her eyes snap open and she hurries to stand up. The trees ahead are thicker and taller than those on the other side. The light is dimmer on the forest floor, casting shadows in every direction it seems. She shivers again, more violently than before.

"Why am I so foolish?" she curses herself as she wraps her arms around herself and eyes the setting sun. If she hadn't been so eager, she would have realised the wiser decision would have been to wait until morning to cross the river. Then she would have the sun to dry her. Now, it would be dark soon, with the heavy threat of freezing to death hanging over her head. She, not for the first time, wishes she had a companion with her. She could make a fire then. She could sleep. Alone, she didn't dare.

Sighing, she heads into the forest. The only way to warm up now is to keep moving. Violent tremors rack her body as her teeth chatter. Another wolf howls, sounding closer this time. Her legs move faster of their own accord. Soon, the sun sets and so does the chill.

She can only see a couple dozen feet in front of her now. The moonlight trickles in through the leaves, but not enough to keep her from tripping. She must have fallen at least a dozen times. Her hands are littered with small cuts from the various stones and twigs she's fallen on. That, paired with the unrelenting cold seeping deeper and deeper into her bones is making her downright miserable.

Her legs are throbbing from exhaustion after what she's sure has been hours of walking. She's tempted to just climb into a tree and sleep, but the chances of never waking are high. It's just when she decides that she doesn't care about those chances, that she sees a flicker of light ahead of her.

She stops walking. The forest is still as she peers at the light. A fire. It's small, but she can clearly see it between the trees. Knowing there's people nearby, she wants to turn around and run, but her still dripping clothes and the chill on her skin makes her take a step forward. Gripping her dagger in her hand, she inches toward the fire, barely making any sound as she moves.

To her luck, she doesn't hear any voices. That could mean one of two things: either the people are asleep, or the group is small. Both options are equal in her mind.

She hides behind a tree near enough to the campfire to see, but far enough away to cover herself in shadows. Cautiously, she peaks around the trunk to assess what she's found.

Beside the fire is a haphazardly stacked pile of wood. Enough for half the night, she'd guess. Other than that, there's barely anything else, which is odd. Usually travelers carry packs at least, but there's nothing other than a small leather saddle bag. This camp couldn't belong to more than two people, she decides. Whoever they are, they must have gone to gather more firewood.

Slowly, she steps out from behind the safety of the tree and creeps toward the fire. She hears nothing around her other than the occasional rustle of the leaves in the wind. Feeling safe for the moment, she rushes forward, careful not to make any noise, and stands beside the fire. It's warmth sinks into her skin immediately. A moan of pleasure passes her lips as she holds her hands up, close to the flames. She can feel the ice melting in her bones.

Her fingers have just regained their feeling when she hears a horse whinny from somewhere close. The sound startles her. She pulls her hands back from the fire quickly, reaching toward her dagger which she'd returned to her belt, when a deep voice growls from behind.

"Don't fucking move, boy, or I'll gut you where you stand."

She immediately freezes. The man's voice is impossibly deep and rough, harsh like a sword scraping against stone. Her heart beats so viciously she feels as if it will jump from her chest.

"You got a death wish or somethin'?" the man snarls, sounding closer than before. "It's pretty fucking stupid to just walk up to someone else's camp."

Something sharp presses hard into her lower back. A sword. Her body tenses even more than before. She holds her hands out to her sides, trying to show him that she's unarmed. Sweat trickles down her temples as the sword presses further into her.

"If you came here to steal somethin', then you're the unluckiest bastard in all of Westeros," the man laughs bitterly, "I ain't got a penny to me, boy."

She bites her bottom lip anxiously and the man growls low in his throat. It's an animalistic sound, deep and threatening.

"What?" he snaps, "You don't have anything to say?"

He's baiting her, but she stays quiet. He thinks she's a boy. She doesn't want him to know the truth. Who knows what he'll do then...

"Did you get your fucking tongue cut out?" he asks, sounding amused, "Turn around and face me like a man, boy. You come into my camp like a man, you're going to die like one, too."

A small whimper passes Linette's lips before she can stop it. The sword jabs into her back harshly as the man growls.

"Don't be a fucking cunt."

A massive hand circles her shoulder and spins her around. She doesn't have time to fight or yell before the sword that was on her back finds her neck, the fine blade pressing into the soft skin there. Her eyes are wide with terror, but they widen even further when she sets sight of the man before her.

A towering mass of muscle and black armor is the first thing she sees. Her hood still covers her face from him, but it also keeps his covered from her. She can't even see his shoulders. The man is a giant. He presses the blade further into her skin and she winces at the sharp pain that follows. A thin stream of blood trickles down her neck.

"Get that bloody hood off," he snarls before yanking it down himself.

Her still damp hair falls down her back, a mess of curls. The pale, silver color practically glows in the moonlight. There's no way he thinks she's a boy now. Terrified, she raises her chin to look him in the face. He stands at least two heads taller than her, which in itself is frightening, but nothing fills her with more dread than when she sets eyes on his face.

Dark hair falls to his shoulders, a mass of it combed over the right side of his face. He suddenly sneers and with a shake of his head, tosses his hair back. Linette's eyes widen. The left side of his face is smooth, with sharp cheekbones and a heavy brow, while the right side is burned to ruin, a mass of charred flesh and scarring. The sight is gruesome, but it isn't what frightens her most. It's his eyes. Although his whole face is twisted into a fearsome scowl, his dark eyes hold so much rage that she feels herself cowering.

"You really are a cunt," he says, shock mixing in with his harsh tone. He looks her up and down, still holding the sword to her neck, though a little looser now, before he meets her eyes again. "What the hell are you doing here, girl?"

She swallows thickly, trying to find her voice.

"I'm running..." Her voice is quiet, but she surprises even herself by meeting his gaze steadily.

"From?"

"Everything."

"Who isn't?" he snorts roughly, "Now don't be smart this time and answer the damn question: What are you doing here?"

She shuffles anxiously, "I-I saw the fire, but no one was around. I wanted to warm up."

He hums low in his throat, taking in her soaking clothes before grinning humorlessly, "You try to drown yourself?"

"No," she shakes my head quickly, "I had to cross the Blackwater to get to the Reach."

"Little thing like you swam the Blackwater?" he seems impressed and she nods.

"Just before sunset."

He snorts, "That was fucking stupid."

"I know. That's why I came to the fire. I'd rather risk getting stabbed than freeze to death."

His eyes narrow, making the scarred portion of his face look even more sinister.

"Got any weapons on you?" he asks after a moment or two.

"Just a dagger. On my belt."

Without a moment's hesitation, he reaches forward with his free hand and yanks the dagger out from underneath her cloak. She winces at the force.

"This is mine now," he holds her dagger up tauntingly for her to see. It seems unbelievably small in his massive hand.

"Okay..." she nods warily, watching as he shoves it into his boot, "... can I sit by the fire now?"

"Why the fuck would I let you do that?"

"I'll trade you," she says quickly. His brow quirks in interest. He waves his hand a little, telling her to go on. Slowly, she reaches behind her and pulls out the bundle Thoros gave her. "I have some food. It's not much, but it's yours if you let me warm myself by the fire."

"How about I just take your food, kill you now, and be done with it?" he snarls, the blade once again pressing against her neck with full force. She winces as the fear soaks through her. Still, she holds his gaze evenly, staring up at him with the calmest expression she can manage.

"You won't," she say, making his eyes narrow even further, "because you're honorable."

A vicious, twisted snarl rips from his throat. He grabs a handful of her hair at the base of her neck and yanks her head back roughly, leaning down to bring his scarred face close to hers.

"I ain't fuckin' honorable," he sneers, shaking her harshly, "I could kill you, girl. Right here. Rip your arms off with my bare hands, and have you every which way until you beg for mercy."

His breath is hot and angry on her skin. A fire blazes in his eyes, one she's never seen before. It frightens her, but she doesn't back down.

"Yes," she says quietly, looking him square in the eyes, "but why haven't you done it yet?"

His jaw tenses, his hand tightening its grip on her hair. He leans closer, pulling her up by the scalp to meet him. Her eyes water in pain, but she holds his gaze firmly, refusing to look away regardless of whether her assessment of his character is proven true or not. His angry, brown eyes meet her intense, dark-grey ones.

Suddenly, the sword at her throat disappears. The bundle of food is ripped out of her hand as the man releases his hold on her hair, throwing her to the ground roughly. She catches herself at the last moment, barely managing to keep from falling into the fire. She hears him drop down heavily on the opposite side of the fire from her. He leans back against a tree and shoves all the berries into his mouth, swallowing without chewing. It's not a very pretty sight.

Deciding he isn't an immediate threat to her at the moment, Linette tears her eyes away from him and heads toward the fire. The heat feels heavenly on her skin. She pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knees.

They sit in relatively comfortable silence. He gnaws on a piece of dried meat while she closes her eyes, enjoying the light dance behind her eyelids.

"What's your name, girl?" he asks after a while, his lips smacking as he eats.

"Linette of House Breton," she answers without opening her eyes, "What's yours?"

"Sandor."

"Nice to meet you, Sandor." The silence stretches on, awkward this time. She opens her eyes to see him watching her closely. His eyes are narrowed, hair once again covering the left side of his face.

"Where you from?"

"The North," she answers simply, "Travelled all the way from my village. Came down the Green Fork on my way to the Reach."

"Why the Reach?"

She shrugs, "I heard it was nice…"

His snort makes her blush. She knows her reason is foolish, but she has nowhere to go and noone to go to. Her fingers awkwardly play with the hem of her tunic. Luckily, Sandor doesn't press her. She chews on the inside of her cheek for a moment before tilting her head curiously.

"What are you doing out here?" she asks. His immediate scowl has her backtracking quickly, "I-I'm only asking because you know what I'm doing. It's only fair that I know about you too."

"You think I care about what's fair?" he snorts, obviously thinking her foolish.

She shrugs weakly, "Just trying to make conversation..."

"Well don't." Sandor snarls. That terrible anger is back in his eyes as he glares at her. "You don't need to get in with the likes of me, girl. I could eat you alive."

She frowns, "Why do you keep saying those things?"

"Because they're fucking true, you stupid cunt!" he snaps, "Didn't your daddy ever teach you not to go trusting strange men in the forest? You should just scuttle back to wherever the fuck you came from. And stay there. There are things out here, girl. Things far worse than me."

Her hands tighten around her legs so much that her knuckles turn white. Tears brim in the corners of her eyes, but she blinks them away. There is no way she's going to cry in front of this man.

"Don't you think I know that?" she hisses, anger burning at his words. He laughs at her.

"Obviously not! Pretty thing like you's probably out looking for adventure. Just like all the other stupid little cunts who believe in honor."

"You know nothing about me," she whispers, her rage turning quiet as she struggles to keep her breathing even.

Sandor scoffs, "Don't I? I know everything I need to know about you, girl. You're a useless little bitch running around out here just waiting to get her pussy wet."

That did it.

With a ferocious growl, she jumps to her feet. In one motion, her hand wraps around the handle of her dagger where it's poking out of his boot. She rips it out and holds it to his neck, the tip sitting at the hollow of his throat. His dark eyes watch her harshly, his impossibly long legs still spread out leisurely.

"You know nothing about me," she repeats, thrusting the dagger forward enough to make him tilt his head up.

"You already get your pussy wet, then?" He mocks. His lips twist upward and his brow raises. Despite the fact that he's sitting and she's standing above him, their faces are close. She steps nearer to him, forcing him to lean back at the proximity. She presses the dagger down hard enough to draw blood. He doesn't flinch.

"No," she says. Her voice trembles and she suddenly finds it hard to breathe, "Nothing I did stopped them. They made my father and my brothers watch, and when they were done with me they slaughtered them. Cut off their heads and left me there. So don't you dare say I don't know what's out here."

Sandor's harsh gaze softens. Her eyes flit between both of his as she breathes furiously, her hand shaking as she clutches her dagger. The anger dims in his eyes to something she can't place, but it's gone so quickly that she thinks she'd imagined it. It's replaced by that taunting look of his. His lips turn up in a cruely amused grin.

"You're not so bad, girl."

His words make her frown, but before she can think on them, her legs are swiped out from underneath her. With a yelp, she falls down clumsily on her back. Sandor's sword appears, the steel touching the base of her throat just like her dagger had been on his. She looks up at his massive form as he stands above her. Her eyes narrow.

"Do it," she hisses, her hands clenching into fists. He laughs, just air passing through his nose really, before taking a step forward. His sword digs into her skin. Her body tenses.

"You a dragon?" he asks. She frowns heavily, her strength wavering with surprise at the random question.

"A what?"

His eyes narrow. He watches her confused expression before shaking his head, taking that as his answer before addressing her again.

"Next time you try somethin' like that, don't stand there jabbering. It gives your opponent time to think of ways to beat you."

Linette frowns, even more confused. Why is he telling her this?

He takes another step and forces his boot onto her wrist. The pressure is painful. She immediately lets the dagger she's clutching clatter to the ground.

"This is mine," he snatches it up and shoves it back in his boot. Without another word, he sheaths his sword and drops back on the ground, leaning against the tree and eating the meat like nothing had happened.

Bewildered, she turns her head toward him from where she lays, her hands held out by her head and her hair surrounding her.

"You're not going to kill me?" she asks, confusion lacing her words.

"No." He takes a rather large bite of the dried meat.

Her frown deepens, "Why?"

"I'm a bastard, but I don't go around killing little girls."

"I'm not a girl."

He stops eating and gives her a look, "How old are you?"

"Twenty."

"Aye, not a girl then."

He goes back to eating. She just watches him from her place splayed out on the ground. She doesn't understand how he went through moods so quickly. Even less does she understand why he hasn't killed her.

The moments tick on quietly, nothing but the sounds of owls or the rustle of leaves around them. It's not long before Linette hears the horse whinny she heard earlier. It echoes from somewhere behind. She arches her back to tilt her head backward, trying to catch sight of the animal.

"Is that your horse?" she asks, awed when she catches sight of the large, black beast gracefully standing in a small clearing through the trees.

"Who else's would it be?"

She shrugs distractedly, not at all bothered by his curtness. The stallion turns to graze on another patch of grass. It's a handsome creature, large and clearly strong. A warhorse, she realizes.

"What's his name?" The question passes her lips quickly. She's grateful it does though. It stops her from asking the questions she actually wants to ask, ones she's sure she shouldn't.

"Stranger," Sandor tosses his head in the horse's direction. It's ears immediately twitch at the sound of it's master voice, and it turns toward them.

"He's beautiful," she breathes, taking in the stallion's massive size and sleek coat.

"Aye," Sandor agrees and settles further into the tree, finally finished with the food, "He's also a devil to those he don't know. Better hope he don't kill you."

"Kill me?" she lets her body fall back on the ground and turns to look at him, her brow furrowed. He grins.

"That there horse is better than any king's guard," he says, "so don't even think about comin' at me again. If he don't kill you, I will. Girl or not."

"I told you. I'm not a girl," she rolls her eyes heavily, "Besides, I don't want to kill you."

He snorts loudly, "You sure wanted to earlier."

She frowns, "No. I didn't. Not really. You just made me angry."

"Lots of people are going to make you angry, girl. If you hold a dagger to their throat, you better want to kill them, or it's going to come back to bite you in the ass."

"It didn't this time," she smiles easily when his intense gaze settles on her, "You didn't kill me."

"Don't make me regret it." The threat is clear, his gravelly voice harsh and low, but her smile widens all the same. He looks annoyed.

"I'm going to sleep," she says before he can say anything. She catches sight of his deepening scowl before she turns onto her side, her face to the fire and her back to the glowering man. "I promise I won't try to kill you."

She hears him snort loudly. Her smile widens and she closes her eyes, covering her body with her cloak and folding her hands underneath her head. The warmth and light of the flames soothes her. She feels herself relaxing for the first time in months despite the questionable character of her companion.

"Good night, Sandor."

"Shut the fuck up."

A giggle passes her lips as he mumbles more curses. She hears him moving around in his place by the tree, but soon, he stills too. Even though she knows nothing of the man, she feels safe in his company. His and Stranger's. Their threat, for some reason, doesn't scare her as much as she knows it should. Peace seeps through her as she falls into the deepest sleep she can remember.


	3. The Thief and the Gentleman

**Chapter 3: The Thief and the Gentleman**

Linette wakes to the sound of clanking metal and a horse's whinny. Her eyes fly open, her hand rushing to her belt only to find her dagger missing. She suddenly remembers the night before. The thud of horse's hooves makes her sit upright.

"Sandor!" she calls out, seeing his large frame sat atop Stranger. They disappear between the trees and she hurries to stand, kicking dust into the air. She vaults over the long-dead fire and takes off in the direction of the man and horse.

"Wait!" she calls, catching sight of the pair not too far off. She runs faster. "Sandor! Please, wait!"

She's sure he hears her, but he doesn't slow down. Neither does he speed up though. She takes that as a good sign and keeps running. Although he's only walking Stranger at a brisk walk, it doesn't seem like she's getting any closer to them despite her quick pace. She sprints now, trying to catch up, but after five minutes of unrelenting running, she feels a stitch in her side.

"Sandor! Slow down!" she pants heavily, slowing just a little, "Please! I can't keep running like this!"

"Then don't!" He calls without looking at her.

She growls in irritation at his stupidly broad back. He's a dick, but she knows she'll be better off with him. Being alone isn't smart. She hisses through the pain in her side and pushes herself to keep running. Beads of sweat trickle down her back as the sun beats down on her.

She's been running for what feels like forever when they come to a deep part of the forest. The trail slopes down dramatically, walls of earth and vines on either side. She struggles to keep herself from tripping as she follows the man and horse down the trail.

There's a fallen log along the path. Stranger jumps over it easily. She eyes it warily as she comes closer. It looks like it would reach her waist. She's sure she's jumped higher before...

Her pace picks up as she nears the log. She bends her knees and throws herself over. Bracing herself with one hand on the log, she vaults up and over it. A prideful grin pulls on her lips only to immediately vanish. The ground on the other side is lower, veering down sharply in a slide of jagged rocks.

"Shit!" she yells, her foot catching awkwardly on a particularly large rock. She slips and finds herself tumbling down the hill. With one last flip, she lands hard on her back. She groans and writhes a little on the ground. She's going to be covered with bruises in the morning, she's sure.

Hot air suddenly hits her in the face, blasting her hair away from her head. She opens her eyes, startled, to see Stranger's black muzzle above her. He breathes another gust out of his nose and she flinches.

"You going to fucking chase me all the way to Winterfell?" Sandor's gravelly, irritated voice sounds from his place atop Stranger.

"Is that where you're going?" she asks.

"Course not."

"Then no."

Stranger's muzzle disappears. The horse slams his hooves down agitatedly as Sandor pulls on the reins. Dirt splatters Linette's face, kicked up by the shifty animal. He soon stills and comes to stand beside her. She relaxes into the dirt, turning her face toward Sandor. He's watching her with the same intense look and furrowed brow.

"Why are you following me, girl?" he demands, "You're worse than sick on a whore."

Her lips turn up for a moment before she pushes herself up off the ground. Stranger shifts uneasily, but one pat to his neck from Sandor and the animal stills. Linette wipes her hands together to get the dirt off and turns to fully face him.

"Take me with you," she demands. Her voice is strong, her grey eyes focused on the man before her. He scoffs heavily and rests his armor-covered forearm on his thigh, leaning toward her with a scowl.

"Why in Seven Hells would I do that?"

"Because I can help you."

A burst of laughter escapes him. It lacks all humor.

"You couldn't help me find my cock," Linette scowls but he continues, "You'd just be extra weight, girl. Another bloody mouth to feed. I'm not wasting my time watching out for your scrawny ass."

"You won't have to. I can take care of myself."

"If that were true, you wouldn't be here."

He had her there.

She lets out an irritated huff before taking a small step toward him.

"I'm a good thief," she says, deciding to wager with him, "I'm small and quiet. No one notices me, and even if they do, I'm fast. You want money or food? Ale? I can get it. How do you think I survived this long on my own if I couldn't steal?"

He cocks a brow and looks her over. She holds her breath, trying not to get her hopes up. They hold each other's gaze and she squares her shoulders, wanting to look tougher than she is so he'll take a chance on her. His eyes narrow at the movement. He scratches at the dark scruff on his chin before taking his weight off his thigh and leaning away from her.

"First town we come to, you prove yourself," he says, pointing his finger at her harshly, "You better be a damn good thief, girl, or I'm leaving you wherever the fuck we are. Got it?"

She nods quickly, trying to keep her happiness from showing on her face.

"Yes," she agrees immediately, "Whatever you want, I'll get it for you."

"You better."

He slides off Stranger, his heavy boots slamming onto the ground. His armor clinks loudly and she's suddenly reminded of just how large he is. Her eyes widen as she tilts her head back to look at him. A heavy scowl takes over his face.

"Too late to change your mind now, girl," he snarls and before she knows it, his hands are under her arms, lifting her up with unnatural ease to set her atop Stranger's back. She fists her fingers into the horse's mane to keep steady. Sandor sets his foot into the stirrup and swings his other leg up and over, sitting down behind her. His arms snake around her to take hold of the reins.

"I can ride a horse, you know. I don't need to sit side-saddle," she grumbles as he guides Stranger around and up the ravine.

"I don't care," he spits. She can feel the rumble of his chest where her shoulder presses against him. "Can push you off if you get too fuckin' annoying."

"I don't think you would. You're-"

He shoves her back roughly and she falls forward onto his other arm. She laughs heartily before righting herself. Her smile widens when she catches sight of his positively sour expression. He glares down at her. She beams at him before turning away.

"Don't worry," she says, "I'll be quiet."

"Fucking bitch…" he grumbles and she smiles wider at the forest in front of her.

True to her word, she doesn't speak for the rest of their journey. Though it's the beauty around her that keeps her silent, not her promise. The forest quickly fades into rolling fields. Small, round flowers in bright, pastel shades litter the tall grasses. It looks positively radiant. She's immensely glad Sandor can't see the unrelenting grin on her face. She's sure he would consider that 'annoying'.

Although she's still unsure of the man sitting close behind her, she knows he's her best bet for survival. Sandor is unquestionably strong, a protection she wouldn't even be able to dream of if she were alone. She knows nothing about the man, but she's willing to risk his possible threat for the possibility of safety. His gargantuan size and mean disposition would strike fear into anyone. Herself included. She's just glad he's on her side. For the moment at least...

Her peaceful musings slip away when a town appears in front of them. It sits nestled between two hills, a gray mass in the midst of green. Black smoke wafts off various chimneys while familiar, village chatter echoes up from the busy streets.

"Better be ready to prove yourself, girl," Sandor mumbles above her as they enter the town. People turn and stare at them, or rather, at him. She doesn't blame them, but she feels uncomfortable under their gaze. She can't imagine how he must feel… His sour attitude suddenly makes a little more sense.

He stops Stranger in front of a well sat in the middle of town. Other horses are tied up there, drinking greedily from the trough. Linette feels Sandor slip off the horse. She turns to slide off as well, but his hands once again slip under her arms, lifting her up and setting her down on the ground.

She smirks, "For such an ass, you're quite the gentleman."

His hands retract from her like she has leprosy.

"I'm not a fucking gentleman," he snarls, his face dangerously close to hers. She smiles lightly and tilts her head to the side.

"Not when you curse like that, no, but otherwise..." she shrugs to make her point.

His nose flares as his jaw tightens harshly. Linette's smile dims as she watches the anger course through him. For a moment, she's afraid he'll actually strike her, but the fear evaporates when he turns on his heel and stomps away.

"I'm going to the tavern. Get me enough to pay and then some," he barks over his shoulder before throwing open the tavern doors and disappearing inside.

She chuckles a little to herself as the door slams closed, but suddenly it dawns on her. Sandor is enormous.

"Shit," she throws her head back and groans, "He's going to drink the tavern dry."

Rubbing the tension from her forehead, she turns toward the busiest area of town. The market. Hopefully there will be a lot of loose purses, otherwise Sandor will surely leave her here. Wherever the hell here is.

She makes a mental note to ask Sandor that later before she walks forward, pulling her hood down as she goes. She's learned that people are hesitant to suspect a pretty, young face. Something she's always thought odd, but never fought against. If it helps her, she's all for it.

With that in mind, Linette slips easily through the crowds. Almost everyone stands above her, her head reaching the men's shoulders at best. It's the perfect vantage point. Fat coin purses stick out like a sore thumb on the belts of wealthy men.

Her eye catches one such man. He's a rather portly gentleman standing in front of a cart full of linens. By his blotchy face and flailing arms, she can tell he's just come from the tavern after what looks like a long stay. She smiles. He's perfect.

"Excuse me," she says to the linen cart merchant, coming to stand beside the drunken man, "Where are these linens from?"

The merchant's face lights up. He eagerly retrieves a vibrant blue patterned fabric from where it hangs on a beam above the cart.

"These, fair maiden, are the finest linens you will find in all of Westeros. They come from the Free Cities, they do. Myr and Braavos are of especially luxurious quality. See how the fibers shine in the light? It's quite spectacular…"

The merchant chatters on. She nods her head in all the appropriate places, humming and smiling to keep him talking. All the while, her fingers nimbly work on the threads of the gentleman's coin purse where it's tied to his belt. It's not an easy thing to do without looking, but she's had more than enough practice. Soon, the threads come loose. The purse falls into her hand and she tucks it into the pocket of her cloak.

"If I may," she interrupts the merchant's prattling with a raise of her hand, "How much is your finest linen? I'm sure my lady would love to purchase it."

He smiles like he's just been knighted, "Of course! I have an absolutely radiant piece sewed with gold and rubies. It's well worth over 100 Gold Dragons, but I'd be willing to wager with your lady if she sets her heart on purchasing."

Linette nods, pasting a smile on her face, "Very good, ser. I'm sure my lady will be pleased. Thank you for your time."

Before he can say anything else, and before the drunkard can notice his purse missing (though she's sure that won't be for a couple more hours), she slips back into the crowd. The money now weighing down her cloak makes her smile.

She walks through the streets lazily, repeating the process over and over again. An hour or so later, she's managed to snatch four purses, an apple for Stranger, and a traveler's bag of food. She hasn't looked inside, but from the smell and weight, she's picturing meats, fresh bread, and an assortment of fruit. All in all, it's a fairly good haul. She's just hoping it's enough to pay for Sandor's undoubtedly massive appetite.

With quick feet, she makes her way to the tavern. It doesn't take long to find it. She stops briefly to give Stranger his apple. He's temperamental and refuses to take it from her hand, so she rolls it toward him. She shakes her head when he begins to eat it happily.

"Stupid horse," she mumbles, smiling, then heads toward the tavern. Even from outside, she can hear the loud voices of men. It smells too. Bitter herbs, ale, and the overall stench of uncleanliness. She pulls her hood over her head before entering.

The place is exactly as she imagined. It's dark, filled with men fitting the stench. A group sits at a table to her left. They're cackling, passing a serving girl between themselves as they drink. The sight sickens her. She turns away to search for Sandor, though she doesn't have to search long. His massive form is easy to spot. He's sitting alone at a table in the far corner. His muddy boots are propped up on the table as he leans his chair back against the wall, taking a long gulp from his tankard. Five other tankards sit before him. Empty, she's sure.

"I'm surprised you haven't drunk the tavern's supply of ale yet," she says, sliding into the empty chair beside him.

He eyes her, continuing to drink. She raises her brow when the moment stretches on to a point where she's worried if he can even breathe. She shouldn't have been concerned though. He soon slams the tankard on the table, letting out a satisfied sigh.

"You get the money?" He raises his empty tankard at the barkeep who nods and begins filling another.

"Yes…" she says, watching with distaste as the new tankard is filled, "Though I'm not sure it'll be enough with how much you're drinking..."

"It better be fucking enough," he snarls and leans toward her aggressively. His chair creaks with the sudden movement. A very potent and very repugnant smell of ale fills her nostrils as he breathes on her. She glares up at him.

"You're drunk," she hisses, more than irritated with his irresponsible decision. She thought he'd drink, yes, but not enough to be inebriated. She isn't prepared to handle that. She doesn't think she can handle that.

"And you're a cunt," he nods at her before turning toward the approaching barkeep. The man hands the tankard over and Sandor begins drinking immediately. Both the barkeep and Linette watch him, equal parts impressed and disgusted. The barkeep, however, lingers too long, earing a terrifying glare from Sandor. The man practically runs away.

Linette sighs heavily, "How much do you owe so far?"

Sandor takes a few more gulps from the tankard before responding. "45 stars."

She gapes in disbelief, her mouth hanging open, "45 stars?!"

"That's what I fucking said, didn't I?"

"I know what you said," she snaps at him and pulls the heaviest coin purse from her cloak, "That's just a lot of money for ale. Don't you think we could spend it on something more important?"

Sandor's massive fingers suddenly wrap around her wrist, pulling it toward him. Pain flares up her arm as he squeezes tightly. She tries to pull out of his grip, afraid he's going to break the bone, but he only yanks her closer to him sharply.

"Let's get one thing straight, girl," he snarls, leaning on the table toward her menacingly. Her stomach lurches. His dark eyes hold nothing but danger. "This is my fucking money and I'll spend it however I godsdamn choose. If you open your cunt mouth to tell me what to do again, I'll break your jaw."

Linette grits her teeth angrily, ready to snap at him, but somehow manages to hold herself back. She nods tensely instead. His grip tightens on her wrist then, and she winces, tears pooling in her eyes as her fingers turn purple. The pain is becoming more and more unbearable by the second. A cry is on her lips when he finally lets go. She sinks into her chair, cradling her throbbing wrist to her chest. He turns away from her to pick the tankard up again.

"Now get out of here," he orders, raising the tankard to his lips, "Leave the purse and go wait with Stranger. I'll find you when I'm done."

Linette doesn't waste any time to do what he tells her. She just wants to get away from him. After dropping the purse on the table, she stands up quickly. Her chair screeches against the wood and she takes off before she can hear Sandor's cursing. She bursts through the tavern doors feeling like an escaped convict. Her chest heaves as she sprints toward Stranger. While the horse isn't exactly friendly, he's a welcome sight compared to his owner.

Without stopping, she walks past Stranger to sink her wrist into the horse trough. Although the water is filthy, it's cold. She sighs as the pain in her wrist lessens, if only just a little. The skin is red and tender. She can see distinct fingerprints, large circles already turning a light shade of blue over her freckled skin. She frowns at the sight. Feeling weak, she yanks her wrist out of the water and shakes the droplets off.

"Your master's an asshole," she mutters, turning toward Stranger who eyes her warily. Not even the horse will give her a kind look.

She suddenly feels very tired. Reaching out a cautious hand toward Stranger, she inches forward, hoping he will let her close enough to mount him. Just as she takes a step forward, he lets out an aggressive snort and rears up on his hind legs.

"I'm sorry! Sorry, boy! It's okay!" she tries to soothe him, but his only reaction is more bucking. People begin to slow around her, looking at her curiously. She blushes furiously and backs away from Stranger. The horse calms the further she walks from him.

"Sorry…" she mutters quietly, more to herself than anything else. The people whisper before moving along and the crowd returns to its busy rumbling.

She stands there, feeling more out of place than she has in a long time. She tenderly holds her wrist in front of her and eyes her surroundings nervously.

She's not sure what to do now. The thought of running, of leaving Sandor, his harsh words and even harsher grip passes her mind. Yet she knows what she could face without him. He's an ass, but he won't kill her. He won't touch her the way other men might…

A small sigh passes her lips. No. She can't leave. But she knows she can't stay here, in the middle of the road, and she can't stay with Stranger or he'll surely kill her, but above all, she wants is to sit. Exhaustion seeps through her, intensified by the throbbing in her wrist.

A small alley suddenly catches her eye. It's directly across from the tavern, the only thing standing between the two being the well and the horses. Surely, Sandor would be able to find her there, and if not, she'd be able to see him when he comes out.

Her mind made up, she walks into the alley. It's dark and dirty, only enough room for someone with two of her shoulder width to fit through. She walks in far enough that she's hidden in shadow, but still close enough to the road to see the tavern entrance. Her back hits the wall and she slides down it to sit in the mud and grime. She settles in, pulling her cloak tighter around her, and dutifully sets her eyes on the tavern doors.

Time passes slowly. So many people walk by her that she begins to think she's seen every person in all of Westeros. When the crowd finally thins, it's grown dark, the sun setting quickly as the night air grows cold. She shivers.

"Where the hell are you, Sandor?" she grumbles, double checking that Stranger is still where he should be. He is and looks far less miserable than she feels. She curls in on herself in a weak attempt to keep warm. Though she tries to keep an eye on the tavern, her eyes begin to droop and it isn't long until she falls asleep.

She's not sure how long she sits there, sleeping in the alley, before she's jostled awake.

Her eyes fly open at the feeling of hands on her. She immediately tries to scramble away from the person hovering over her, but they hold onto her shoulders, keeping her in place. She's about to scream when she hears Sandor's familiar, rough voice.

"Calm, girl," he says, sounding tired, "I won't hurt you."

She relaxes immediately. Her eyes adjust to the darkness to see his face more clearly. His jaw is clenched tightly as he looks at her, seeming weary for reasons she can't place. She opens her mouth to ask him what's wrong when he stops her.

"Let's get out of here. I've had enough of taverns."

She barely has time to nod before his arms are underneath her. He lifts her easily, one massive arm under her knees, the other behind her back. Once they're out of the alley, he turns and reaches Stranger in two ground-eating strides. He grips the horse's mane in the hand under Linette's back and sets his opposite foot in the stirrups, mounting the horse in one, swift motion.

"Where are we going?" Her voice is barely a whisper as he sets her down in front of him, side-saddle once again. His arms wrap around her, taking the reins and guiding Stranger out of the silent town.

"I don't know," he says, his voice low and gravelly, "Just somewhere else."

She nods, sighing, "That sounds good."

"... Aye, it does."

They ride in silence. The night covers them well from curious eyes, including Linette's own, which she's grateful for. She's tempted to look up at Sandor, to figure out exactly what's going on with him, but she knows that would end poorly. She keeps her mouth closed as Stranger carries them far away from the town and into the forest.

It isn't long until Sandor suddenly pulls the horse to a stop. They've come upon a small indent in a hill. It reminds her of a cave, just taller and less deep, made of earth instead of rock. Grassroots and vines hang over the edge like a curtain.

Sandor slides off the horse's back. This time Linette is ready for him to help her. She rests her hands on his shoulders as he lifts her down.

"We'll stay here tonight," he says, releasing her, "Go lay down while I get firewood."

She wrings her hands together anxiously, "I can help… if you want, I mean…"

"No," he shakes his head, growling lowly in his throat, "You stay here. Sleep. Rest that wrist."

With that, he turns his back on her and strides into the forest. She's left alone with Stranger. Sighing, she pulls her cloak around her and sits down in the little cave. Her back rests against the earthen wall. She pulls her knees up to her chest and lays her head down. Everything is deathly still, deathly quiet, as she waits for Sandor to come back. He told her to sleep, but she can't.

A twig snaps somewhere near. She sits up quickly, her heart lurching as she presses herself further against the dirt wall.

"Thought I told you to sleep," Sandor growls in the dark, suddenly appearing with his arms full of logs and branches. She relaxes and moves to sit at the mouth of the cave.

"I'm not used to sleeping out in the open alone," she explains, watching as he begins to build the fire.

"Where'd you sleep before?" He stops to look at her.

"In trees," she tries to smile before biting her bottom lip, "It wasn't too bad, just had to make sure I tied myself down first. Didn't want to fall off."

"There are worse places to sleep," Sandor comments roughly before turning back to the firewood. She considers going to help him again, but thinks better of it. He'll probably just send her back.

She draws patterns in the dirt until there's suddenly a small, crackling fire. Sandor's built it near where she sits. She raises her eyes to see him on the ground, blowing gently at the heart of it, making it blossom and swell, until the flames light up their little earthen cave. He backs away from the fire immediately. She raises her brow but doesn't question him. He doesn't seem to notice, not even sparing her a glance as he falls to the ground a couple feet to her right.

"Here," she pulls out the stolen bundle of food from inside her cloak. It's not a lot, but she's sure he's hungry. She cradles it in two hands as she holds it out to him.

He eyes her suspiciously, "What is it?"

"Food. I got it in the market."

He stares at her another moment before sighing and leaning toward her, his hand outstretched. She meets him halfway to drop the bundle into his palm. There's the sound of rustling as he opens it.

"... so?" she asks quietly, raising her brow in question when he begins to eat. He swallows harshly before shooting her an irritated look.

"So, what?"

"Did I prove myself or not?"

His angry expression softens just a little.

"Aye," he nods.

His hands still over the bundle of food. He pops his fingers into mouth quickly, cleaning off any crumbs, then holds the bundle out to Linette. He's left it open, letting her take her pick. She can't help the pleased smile that pulls on her lips. He rolls his eyes at her happiness and thrusts the bundle toward her impatiently. She quickly reaches forward and snags a handful of food, not really caring what it is she's gotten. As soon as she picks up her hand, Sandor pulls the bundle toward him, dropping it in his lap.

They eat in comfortable silence. Linette eventually hands over the other coin purses she managed to pick up. Sandor raises his brow in surprise, but doesn't react other than to empty the money into the leather saddle bag.

The night grows quiet and still, peaceful even, but neither Sandor nor Linette have made any move to sleep. She sits with her arms around her legs, he across from her lying outstretched on the ground, his hands resting on his stomach. He watches the sky above him with a blank expression on his face. She suddenly feels the urge to talk.

"My father was a smith in our village," she says suddenly, absentmindedly rubbing at the bruises on her wrist. Her voice is quiet, but she knows he can hear her. She looks away from him to draw in the dirt again.

"We lived in Grey Motte all my life," she shrugs, "It wasn't much, just a little crossroads town west of White Harbor in the North, but it was home... I wanted to be a smith when I was grown. Just like him."

Sandor snorts that rough chuckle of his, "Little lass like you? A smith?"

"Yes," she smiles easily and turns her head to him. He's still staring at the night sky, his face stoney and expressionless. She wipes the dirt off her hands before continuing, "Father never told me no. He taught me just as much as he did my brothers. It drove my mother mad. She never liked me much though… Don't know why. Figured it was that she wanted me to be proper lady, but no amount of nagging was enough to convince me."

"Good," Sandor lets his head fall to the side to look at her, "You know how to use a sword then?"

"Could hold one before I was but five. I sparred with my brothers when they would let me."

"You any good?"

She shrugs and holds her injured wrist closer to her chest, "As good as I can be."

He nods then, understanding immediately, before returning to look at the sky.

"Don't worry, girl," he mumbles, closing his eyes, "I'll keep you safe."

Once again, she's grateful he can't see how wide her smile stretches.

"And I'll keep the coin coming," she nods, more than approving of their arrangement, and curls up beside the fire.

Like the night before, they settle into a comfortable silence. Exhaustion takes her quickly. Her eyelids grow heavy and she wishes Sandor good night like the night before. This time, he doesn't tell her to shut up. He doesn't say anything, but she knows he's awake. She hears the dirt rustle as he turns on his side. She considers that an improvement and falls asleep with a smile on her face.


	4. Birdcages

**Chapter 4: Birdcages**

"Fuck!"

Sandor wakes abruptly to the sound of crying. The curse flies from his lips, his hand over the hilt of his sword faster than a lightning strike. He sits up and searches quickly for the fucker who's making Linette cry like that. It's a drawn out sound of pain, quiet except to his carefully trained ears.

A frown settles on his brow heavily when he sees nothing other than the darkness of the forest around him. Stranger is the only other one around, and even he looks confused. The animal shifts nervously, his eyes twitching between his master and the girl across from him.

Sandor follows the horse's gaze. Linette is in the same position he last saw her in before he fell asleep: her hands tucked under her head, her body curled tightly as she lays by the fire. It's just a pile of ash now, burned out in the night, but the full moon gives Sandor enough light to see her by.

Her hair distracts him for a moment. The wild curls are a bright, white-gold mane around her head. He's seen that hair before… but she said she wasn't a dragon. She can't be.

Sandor tears his eyes away from her hair when she whimpers again. She's shaking. Still asleep.

He growls in irritation, slamming his sword back into its scabbard.

"Girl," he snarls, trying to wake her from whatever nightmare she's clearly having. She doesn't react.

"Girl!" he calls louder, his voice full of irritation. She's bloody annoying as hell. The whimpering sounds she's making are giving him a headache. He tries again to rouse her, but her only reaction is to curl tighter into a ball.

"Fuckin' useless…" he grumbles as he stands up.

In two long strides, he's standing over her. His first instinct is to take hold of her shoulder and shake her until she stops making those fucking sounds, but there's a glimmer on her face that makes him stop.

Tears. They coat her cheeks almost as much as the dark smattering of freckles on her skin. Her face is scrunched tightly, her mess of thick, pale blonde hair stretching out around her head like it too is trying to get away from the nightmare. She's already a little thing, but seeing her like this makes her seem much, much smaller.

Sandor huffs impatiently. Both at her weakness and his own hesitance. Why the fuck should a few tears stop him? He doesn't know the answer, but they have.

"Girl," he calls, his voice as rough as always but his hand gentle as it settles on her shoulder. He shakes her once.

Eyes the color of storm clouds shoot open. Sandor is about to tell her to be quiet when she scrambles away from him. Her feet kick dirt into the air, terror on her face.

"Easy, lass," Sandor holds his hand up, "Just me."

The fear stays. Sandor's chest constricts painfully. He scowls deeply and throws his hands down.

"Shoulda left you to your fuckin' nightmare..."

That calms her. Her body stills like all the energy's left her. A sigh passes her lips and Sandor watches, more than a little uncomfortable, as her chin trembles. He sees her hands shaking before she curls in on herself, pulling her legs to her chest and hiding her face in her knees.

"I'm sorry," she mutters, her voice muffled by her trousers, "I didn't mean to wake you. It was a bad dream…"

"No shit. You were shakin' enough to move the ground."

She laughs lightly. It's barely a laugh at all, just a breath, a tinkling bell on the air, but it hits Sandor like a blade. Why the fuck is she laughing? His brows furrow, his lips turning down in a severe frown.

"I know," she sighs into her knees, "It's always the same dream... You'd think I'd get used to it, but I'm just as scared each time."

Sandor doesn't know what to say to that. He doesn't want to say anything. Why should he care about this girl or her dreams? Other than getting him money, she doesn't matter. That's all she's good for, so that's all he's going to care about.

"You gonna go back to sleep?" he asks gruffly, turning away from her to calm Stranger. The horse stills the moment his hand settles on its flank.

"No," Linette's voice is small, but he hears her, "Can't ever go back to sleep after..."

He shushes the horse gently, running his fingers over the coarse hairs on its neck. He's always had a way with animals. They make sense, unlike people.

The second Stranger calms, Sandor walks briskly to where he was sleeping earlier.

"Well I ain't goin' back to sleep, either," he huffs, snatching his saddle bag off the ground, "All your moaning and groaning's gonna keep me up till next fuckin' week."

There's that laugh again. It startles him.

"The hell you laughing at, girl?" he snarls and turns toward her. There's anger in his eyes, a few more curses on his lips, but he doesn't say any of them when he sets sight of the girl. She's still sitting in the same place, but she's raised her head now. Her thick hair sits on her shoulders. A smile pulls on her full lips, easy and gentle. There are tears on her cheeks still, but no more drop from her eyes.

"Nothing," she shrugs, her eyes flashing down before looking back up at him. They crinkle softly at the edges as her smile deepens, "You just made me laugh."

Sandor decides right then that she's crazy. He also decides that he likes it much better when she smiles. It's less annoying at least…

He tears his eyes away from her quickly.

"Let's get to town, then," he gruffs. "No use sitting around here in the dark."

"How much money do we have left?"

He digs in the bag for a second. "Couple coppers. Little less."

"Okay," her voice is bright as she pushes herself off the ground, "I'll get us more."

He grunts in response. Of course she'll get more. That's her fucking job.

He turns from where he's attached the bag to Stranger's saddle and waves his hand irritatedly for her to go quicker. Other than standing, she hasn't moved. She sees his gesture grow more impatient and hurries to his side. He lifts her onto Stranger's back, then follows quickly after.

"Thank you," she says softly once he's in the saddle.

He scowls before kicking Stranger to move.

It's something she does. Thanks him. For absolutely nothing. He can't even begin to count the number of high-born ladies he's helped onto their steeds. None of them had ever thanked him, and they didn't need to. Now this scrawny little peasant girl is thanking him for the exact same thing. It's bloody annoying. He doesn't know what to do when she does it, which is almost more annoying than her thanking him in the first place.

"How'd you learn to ride?" she asks suddenly, making him growl in irritation.

"With my dick," he rolls his eyes, "How do you think?"

She shrugs from her place in front of him, as far as she can get really. Her legs are almost hanging off the front end of the saddle.

"I only learned because I begged my brothers to teach me," she says, sounding like she's talking to herself more than to him. He doesn't care. His eyes are fixed on the dark road in front of them. The girl keeps talking.

"Darris didn't want to. He's my oldest brother. Seven years older than me. Always serious and big like an ox. He looked nothing like me, but neither of my brothers did. They were both dark haired and rugged, but Darris was the biggest. He thought teaching me to ride would get me into trouble. He probably had a point, but I didn't care and neither did Toman." She looks up at Sandor, "Toman was my other brother. We were always closer since we weren't so far apart in age. Mother said he fell in love with me the moment he saw me. He did anything I asked, so the second I mentioned wanting to learn to ride, he ran off to see if his friend, Brondon, would let us borrow his horse. Our family didn't have one, but Brondon's father was the innkeeper in town. They had plenty of horses. Brondon would sneak one out of the stables every night, then Toman and I would meet him just outside of town. I learned pretty quickly. It was worth all the sleepless nights, especially when I started beating Toman in races."

She chuckles quietly to herself before looking down. Her fingers fiddle with the leather strap on the saddle before she looks up. Sandor scowls heavily. Those dark grey eyes are on him again and he just knows she's going to ask him another fucking question.

Her lips part. "Do you have sibli-"

"You pulling these questions out your ass?"

Her mouth snaps closed. A small pinch appears between her brows. "No. They're just questions."

"They're annoying as hell."

She frowns, "I'm just curious about you. Do y-"

"And babes are curious about snakes," he interrupts, his tone harsh, "Don't mean they should go stickin' their hands where they shouldn't be."

Her eyes narrow. She stares him hard in the face.

Sandor's stoney expression almost slips. She's looking him right in the face. Very few have had the courage to do so. He's reminded of the girl he left in King's Landing, the one with fire in her hair. She couldn't look him in the face even when he told her to…

His scowl deepens. He's about to scare this girl as much as he'd scared the last one, but she turns away from him with a small humph. A pout. It's both frustrating and hilarious. A grown ass woman pouting like a child. Sandor feels his lips tug upward for a fraction of a second before he forces them back down, scowling at the back of Linette's blonde head.

"Stop it with the questions, girl." He turns back to the road. "It's too early for your yapping."

There's that pout again. Sandor lets himself smirk this time. She can't see it anyway.

A couple hours later and the sun is just peeking out over the trees. Sandor catches sight of a town not far from them, just across a creek and a couple hills further out. His mouth is watering just thinking of the ale. It's really the only thing he looks forward to these days. The taverns, their alcohol, and their barmaids. Much better than getting ordered around in King's Landing.

Stranger's hooves click peacefully on the stone path. Barely anyone is out this early which makes it even easier for Sandor to find an inn, the stables next to it.

"Alright, girl," he says, leading Stranger to an empty stall. "Find me when you're done. Don't get yourself killed."

Linette turns her face toward him just enough for he to see her roll her eyes. He grins wolfishly before sliding off Stranger's back. His armor clatters loudly, drawing a curious stable boy to peek his head out of a stall further down. The boy's eyes widen upon setting sight on Sandor. Afraid, like always. Sandor's gaze hardens.

"Come on," he snaps, turning to Linette where she still sits on Stranger's back. "We don't have all fucking day."

She places her hands daintily on his shoulders. It's a touch almost as light as she is. He lifts her up and off the horse without any effort at all, then places her down in front of him.

"Thank you," she chirps, adjusting her cloak so it sits perfectly on her shoulders. She tilts her head to give him a small smile.

He scowls at her gratitude, at her smile, at her frailty. She's weak. Her head barely reaches the breastplate of his armor as she stands before him. She's a grown woman the size of a doll, with looks straight from a man's most sinful dreams. Curves even in boy's clothes, full lips, freckled skin, alluring grey eyes so dark they're almost black, and unruly, white blonde hair. A wild beauty. She's a temptation to anyone who sees her. A target.

Sandor wonders how she's stayed alive this fucking long. She can't protect herself, yet here she is. Alive. Smiling.

She doesn't deserve it.

"I'll be in the tavern," he snarls before turning on his heel and stomping out of the stables. Though he doesn't pass many people, everyone he sees hurries out of his way.

He chews angrily on his tongue as he walks. Why'd he promise to protect the girl anyway? It was stupid. She'll just get herself killed making some careless decision, just like she'd done when she decided to trust him, and even if he did somehow manage to keep her alive, she'd just turn around and leave. Just like the Stark bitch did.

The tavern doors slam against the walls as he throws them open. The dark room is mostly empty. There's an old barkeep and a couple travellers eating at a table to his left. All three of them stare. Sandor ignores them. He marches across the room to stand in front of the bar, towering over the gray-haired man across from him.

"Give me whatever's strongest," he orders, dropping down heavily into a wooden chair.

A tankard of powerful smelling ale is quickly settled before him. He doesn't waste time to down the whole thing. Drops of liquor drip from his chin as he slams the empty tankard onto the wooden counter. Another one replaces it quickly. Then three more.

"Seems like yer cups have holes in 'em," the barkeep mutters, sounding amused. Sandor fixes him with a hard stare over the tankard. He doesn't say anything, drinking instead. The old man scratches at the wrinkled skin on his temple.

"Can I get you anythin' else?" He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "Got some Dornish wine. Rum too."

Sandor shakes his head.

"No," he licks his lips and sets the tankard down, "Can't drink that shit. Too sweet."

The barkeep's eyebrows raise. "Mmm… what about some company then? I'm sure the girls wouldn't mind gettin' up to see ya, if ya want 'em to that is."

Sandor pauses for a moment.

"Get the tallest one you got."

The old man disappears. Sandor doesn't care where he went or when he'll be back. There's a tankard full of ale in front of him and a girl coming. That's all he cares about at the moment.

His tankard is almost drained when the too sweet scent of perfume suddenly appears beside him. A slender hand settles on his arm.

"Cyrus said you could use some company."

The voice is high and soothing. Practiced. Sandor knows the sweetness isn't genuine. Usually he wouldn't give a flying fuck, but something about it has his hand tightening just a little around his tankard. There's a gentle weight pressing against his side now. It's soft and warm.

"What's your name?" the girl asks sweetly.

Sandor turns to look at her. The barkeep listened, he notices. The girl is tall. He has to tilt his chin the slightest bit to meet her eyes from his place in the chair. She's pretty. For a whore. Her skin is dirty, her clothes unkempt, but she's a woman. Sandor has a generous view of her breasts from this angle. Her hair curls over her shoulders and disappears into the very low neckline of her dress, a waterfall of blonde tresses. It's a dark color, straight and thin. It looks wrong.

She leans closer all of a sudden, her chest pressed tightly against his forearm.

"What's your name?" she repeats, her bright blue eyes looking straight in his. He scowls and lifts the tankard for another sip.

"Doesn't matter," he says when he's taken a drink, "Don't need to know that to do your job."

Her lips turn up easily, "No. I don't." Her nails scratch lightly at the base of his neck. "What do you need?"

He meets her gaze fully, finally turning his head so she can see him. All of him.

She flinches.

Sandor's lip curls, his gaze hardening in the way only self-loathing can. The girl takes a step back as if to run but seems to catch herself at the last moment. She has a job to do. They both know that.

Seeing her before him, a woman willing but without an inkling of true emotion, sends a surge of both anger and lust shooting through him. He reaches toward her. His hand wraps around the back of her head, the other around her waist, and he pulls her onto his lap, his lips slamming onto hers roughly.

She doesn't make a sound. She presses against him just like she's supposed to, kisses him like she's supposed to, her hands sliding low just like they're supposed to. It just makes him angrier. He kisses her even more fiercely, trying to lose himself in both the buzz of alcohol and the feeling of a woman's curves beneath his hands.

It doesn't work.

All he feels is her too long arms around him, her perfectly tamed hair in a knot around his fingers. It's too thin and too dark, and he hates it. Even with eyes closed, he sees is her flinching from him. Over and over again.

He pushes her off him. She catches herself on the bar, her painted lips open in a look of surprise. Sandor ignores her, as if she's nothing than another mediocre painting on the tavern walls. He turns back to the bar, wanting to drink himself into oblivion, when his eyes set sight of a small, navy colored coin purse sitting directly in front of him on the bar. He freezes.

"The fuck is this?!" He snatches it up, snarling at the barkeep. The old man takes a step back and shrugs.

"Some pretty lass came and put it down," he explains quickly. "Left fast. Don't know who she was."

Sandor growls low in his throat. Of course the girl had to come then. She probably got scared of how rough he was with the whore, not that he's sorry for it. The whore didn't help like she was supposed to. Now the girl is probably in town somewhere, getting lost or getting into some other shit she shouldn't be.

Draining the last of his ale, Sandor takes a handful of coins out of the purse. He doesn't know exactly what he owes but he doesn't care. He slams down however many coins he took out and shoves himself out of the seat. Though he's had far too much to drink, he doesn't stumble as he walks through the doors.

Bright sunlight hits him in the face the second he steps into the street.

"Fuck…" he winces and shields his eyes for a second. The sun is high in the sky now. At least noon. It doesn't feel like he'd been in there that long, but hell, he doesn't even know how much he had to drink. He didn't even notice Linette come in either...

He walks through the town, his irritation growing with each moment he doesn't find the headful of wild, white blonde hair he's looking for. It shouldn't be this difficult. He towers over everyone, giving him the perfect vantage point. Yet, nothing. The girl must be hiding.

"Stupid cunt," he curses her under his breath as he finds the densest part of town. A market. The familiar sight of sales carts and stands says as much, but there's something different.

Long garlands of leaves and herbs hang from one cart to another, one house to another. The bright green color decorates the streets and squares. There seems to be more people selling sweets than normal. Lemon pies, tarts, cream puddings, and sweet breads fill the square. Lively music plays from somewhere close by.

Sandor frowns heavily. It's a festival. He doesn't know what for but he doesn't care. It's bloody awful. Too many people and too much noise.

His stride widens as he walks briskly toward the music. He comes upon a larger square. It's packed. People of every age and size mingle in the center. Couples twirl each other wildly through the crowd, children weaving through their legs. A small band of minstrels are gathered on the far edge. Their music carries loudly despite their small size.

Sandor stands at the edge, the usual mask of indifference on his face even though he's far from entertained by what's around him. A couple blonde heads catch his eye, but it doesn't take him long to find the one he's been looking for for fucking ever.

"Course she'd find the worst fucking thing…" With a growl of irritation, he pushes through the crowd to where she sits on the stone wall that circles the square. Her feet dangle a foot or so off the ground, lazily swinging and brushing the air. A smile pulls on her lips as she watches the people swirl around her. The grin dims slightly when she catches sight of him walking toward her. He's sure his coal-dark armor looks menacing in the sea of merriment, but he doesn't give a shit.

He pulls himself up to sit on the wall beside her, crossing his arms over his chest as he sets his hard gaze on the crowd.

"Do you need more money for the… er, girl?" Linette asks awkwardly after an uncomfortable stretch os silence. Sandor sees her holding out another coin purse in the corner of his eye. He shakes his head once.

"No. Paid already."

She lets the purse fall into her lap. "Oh, okay…"

"Not for the girl," he says, immediately feeling odd. He doesn't know why he's explaining himself. "Didn't need to pay for her. Just for the ale. Had a lot of fucking ale."

She snorts then. Her pink lips turn up fully again, and he feels her eyes on him. "You always have a lot of ale."

He shrugs. "Man's got to relax somehow."

"That's true," she hums in thought, "What else relaxes you? Other than ale I mean…"

Something between a groan and a sigh catches in his throat. Of course she'd turn this into one of her fucking questions. He's tempted to ignore her, but he doesn't. Maybe it's the buzz in his head or the commotion around him, but he finds himself telling the truth instead.

"Fighting works. Killing," he shrugs, "Fucking too."

She's quiet. Sandor lets his eyes slide to her, already knowing what will be on her face. He's sure he'll see horror, fear, maybe disgust even, just like he'd seen from the whore, but… he's wrong. There's no expression on her face. She's looking out on the dancing crowd as she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. Sandor, stunned, can't seem to look away.

"I like dancing," she says suddenly, her hands lightly tapping her thighs to the beat of the music, "and talking. Swimming is nice."

"Go swim over there," Sandor nods his head toward a rather large barrel of wine on the other side of the square, "Maybe you'll have better luck drowning yourself than you did in the Blackwater."

"Maybe I will," she laughs, her eyes crinkling happily. Though Sandor doesn't share her smile, he feels his buzz deepen. The warmth of the alcohol grows in his chest.

"You know what?" Linette stands up abruptly. She slides down off the wall, feet hitting the ground quietly so she stands below him, "I want to do something."

Sandor widens his eyes sarcastically, "That's fucking specific." He nudges his head at her. "Look. You're breathing. That's something."

"No," she rolls her eyes heavily, "something new. Come on."

She turns around and starts walking away.

"Where you think you're going?" he calls after her, annoyed that she thinks she can just order him around. She turns quickly so she's walking backwards.

"To breathe somewhere else!" she grins at him, "Now come on! You said you'd keep me safe. You can't do that from across town, and I don't take you for a liar."

He scowls. Her grin grows before she turns back around, striding through the crowd with her silver curls swaying back and forth with her hips. A few men watch her as she passes. Sandor drops down off the wall irritatedly.

"Course I find the most annoying bitch in Westeros…" he grumbles as he follows her through the square.

He doesn't try to catch up to her and she doesn't slow down to wait for him. She walks forward happily, a small bounce in her step as she looks at the things she passes. Carts of golden bracelets, swords and daggers with jewel encrusted hilts, spices of every color, and wooden cases full of books. Her head swivels toward anything and everything, her eyes filled with wonder.

It's fucking annoying. Her bloody stupid excitement. Sandor doesn't see what's so wonderful. It's just a shit market with shit people trying to con and steal. Nothing new.

After the third stop at a merchant's cart and what feels like hours of watching her from ten feet away, Sandor walks up to fall into step by her side. She doesn't acknowledge him. She continues to nibble at the small piece of sweet bread she bought from the last vender.

"Are you going to talk to every damn person here?" Sandor asks gruffly as they walk.

"Everyone with something interesting, yes," she replies easily, her feet slowing as they come upon a stand full of ornate bird cages. Sandor huffs and crosses his arms. He watches as she absentmindedly runs her fingers over the metal of a large bronze cage.

"How is a fucking bird cage interesting?" he demands.

"I've never seen a bird cage," she says, moving to a smaller silver one, "No one had one in Grey Motte. There was no reason."

Sandor's glare softens only slightly. "Well now you've seen one, and there's still no reason for it."

She shrugs lightly before walking past him toward the road."I think they're beautiful. That's a reason."

He sighs, begrudgingly following her small form through the crowd again.

It's quite familiar to him, shadowing someone as he walks. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword like second nature. People scatter at his intimidating presence, keeping the hell away from him and the person he's clearly following. He used to do this all the time for the Lannisters. It was always tedious as fuck. The only thing that made it worthwhile were the bloody idiots who got in the Lannisters' way. He got to kill them then. His eyes settle on Linette's smiling face as she chats with some cobbler from Pyke, and, for the first time, Sandor doesn't mind if he doesn't have to kill anyone today.

At some point, Linette buys him a new wineskin. He'd drunk the last of his own supply a few days ago. She presses the new one into his hands without a word, smiles, then turns back to walking through the streets. He stares at it for a second, bewildered. The kindness is foreign to him. He's not sure what to do…

"Fuckin' idiot…" he curses himself this time.

He's supposed to drink the damned thing. Obviously.

He opens the wineskin, putting it to his lips as he walks after Linette. He's shocked to find it isn't wine at all. It's ale. A bitter, earthy tasting ale, clearly strong as the alcohol puts a small burn in his throat. It's been a long time since he's felt that. This must be some fucking strong ale.

He drinks it within the hour. Linette gives him a brilliant smile when he tosses the empty wineskin on the ground.

"Knew you'd like it," she giggles, watching as he walks toward her, "The merchant said it could put a giant flat on his ass. You're still standing though. Guess he lied."

He snorts, "I'm no giant."

"You might as well be."

He shrugs at that, licking the last of the ale from his lips. He's got one hell of a buzz now. She giggles again. He looks down to see her pulling a bundle out of the inside pocket of her cloak.

"Come on," she says, holding the bundle under her arm, "I've got dinner. Let's go sit outside of town. The sun will go down soon, and I want to get away from the crowds."

He doesn't argue, but she gives him a look like she's expecting him to.

"Please come. I've got another wineskin if you do."

"Fuck, girl," he stares at her incredulously, "You tryin' to get me drunk?"

She laughs and shakes her head, "No. I just thought it would make you happy."

He's almost at a loss for words. Why the hell would she want to make him happy? He's not even sure what would do that. Though, that ale is getting pretty fucking close.

"Just give me that wineskin and I'll go wherever you want, lass."

She positively beams.

He takes the wineskin from her, deciding he was right earlier.

She's much less annoying when she smiles.


	5. I'll Show You

**Chapter 5: I'll Show You**

They travel aimlessly through the Riverlands for the next couple months. Their routine is easy and peaceful, words Linette wouldn't have ever imagined she'd use to describe Sandor. Yet… it oddly fits.

They wander into random towns when their supply of food or money run low. Sandor always disappears quickly (to a tavern presumably), while Linette heads to the streets. It's never long before she returns to him, her pockets heavy. Though he's usually drunk, he's never as cruel as he was the first time when he bruised her wrist.

As someone who has never travelled, the villages are a thrilling sight. There's always something new to see. Linette's delight is hard to hide, though she'd be lying if she said she wanted to hide it at all. Sandor's irritation and heavy use of profanity amuse her too much, which only adds to her happiness.

Though she enjoys teasing him in town, she enjoys their travelling much more. The beauty of the land sets a calm in her heart as she sits before Sandor, enjoying the lull of the horse's steps beneath her.

When their travels began, she sat as far away from the man as she could. He frightened her. Her severely bruised wrist just served as a reminder of what he could do to her if he wanted. Yet, he hasn't raised his hand against her since. His tone is as rough as ever, but something about what he says isn't as menacing. It's almost… soothing. Consistent. She always knows what to expect from him. He's blunt and rude, but always honest. The moment she realized that, her fear of him vanished.

Maybe it's his honesty, she's not sure, but when they ride now, she doesn't feel the need to sit so far away from him. As the days went on, she found herself closer and closer. Until now, where her body rests against him, her arm wrapped lightly around his waist to keep herself steady.

He'd been wary of the position at first. His face had twisted into a sour expression, his body tensing at her touch. Yet she kept her arm around him all the same, and, as time went on, he stopped tensing. He lets her rest against him now with practically no reaction whatsoever.

"Can we stop soon?" she turns her chin up from where her head rests against the cool metal of his armor. His eyes flit down to meet hers before turning back to the forest road before them.

"Why do you want to stop?" he asks gruffly.

She shrugs, "It's a beautiful day. I'd like to enjoy it."

He snorts in disbelief, "We don't need to stop for that. I'm sure you'll enjoy it from right here, telling me all the bloody wonderful things you find. Chattering like a fuckin' bird."

She giggles in equal parts humor and embarrassment, looking down to hide her blushing cheeks from his gaze.

"You don't hate it that much," she smiles up at him when she finally feels her blush disappear. He quirks a brow in disagreement. A deep rumble vibrates his chest as he huffs and looks back at the road.

"Where the hell do you want to go, anyway?" He asks, his voice as flat as possible despite its natural growl. Linette sits up quickly, beaming as her hand excitedly falls on his forearm where it lays across her legs, holding Stranger's reins.

"I want to see a river again," she says, her words a rush of excitement, "Nothing is as beautiful as the sunlight on the water."

Sandor's dark eyes are on her. She bites her lip and stares up at him, hoping he'll give in. He watches her for at least a minute and she begins to think he's not even going to answer, when he suddenly yanks the reins harshly to the right. Stranger veers sharply. Linette falls forward at the sudden movement, but Sandor raises his arm up to catch her.

"The Blackwater's tributary ends to the North, past Acorn Hall," he says as she steadies herself, "We should reach it in an hour."

Her lips pull back in a wide grin. Pure happiness courses through her, and before she can stop herself, she wraps her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. He tenses immediately.

"Thank you, Sandor," she grins into his breastplate.

"Get off me, woman," he growls, yanking her arms off him. Her smile doesn't dim as she looks up at him. He shakes his head in annoyance, his dark hair falling to cover his burned face even more than it already was, "And try not to look so damn happy. It's fucking annoying."

Linette laughs lightly before turning to look down the side road they've turned onto. A contented sigh passes her lips. She once again rests her head against Sandor's chest. He doesn't tense this time.

They ride in silence for the next hour. The forest slowly thins as the rocky ground gives way to rich, dark soil. Trees grow taller, their leaves a brighter green, creating a halo of yellow light that cascades down from above. Birds chirp happily and Linette turns her growing smile on Sandor. He feels her movement and looks down at her.

"What did I bloody say about being annoying?" he growls, looking away almost immediately.

She simply laughs and sits up straight. The area is beautiful. She busies herself with watching it, taking in the colorful birds that fly by and the twisting trees that stretch overhead. It isn't long before she catches sight of a twinkling in the distance. Stranger strolls through a gap in the trees and suddenly they're on the bank of a magnificent river. It's wide and gentle, curling along with the hills and forest that surround it.

"There's your water," Sandor says as he pulls Stranger to a stop, "Now get down before I push you off."

Linette grins widely at him, catching sight of his scowl, before she slides off Stranger's back. Her feet hit the ground and she immediately reaches up to loosen the strings that hold her cloak around her neck. It falls in a heap in the dirt.

"Aren't you coming?" she throws the question over her shoulder. Sandor frowns, but she turns away before he can say anything. She hears the thump of his boots as he dismounts. Grinning, she sprints toward the water, kicking her own boots off as she goes.

Water soaks her pants when she wades into the muddy water. She squeals a little at the coldness. Her fingertips skim the surface as she tries to take in everything around her. She pivots on her heels, her toes digging into the rocks, until she's turned in a full circle. She catches sight of Sandor again. He's standing at the edge of the water now, his meaty arms crossed over his chest and a heavy scowl on his face.

"Come on, Sandor, the water's nice." She holds her hand out to him, but he doesn't move. Her shoulders slump dramatically and she wiggles her fingers. "You know you want to. Gods know you need a bath."

He scoffs, "Think I care about that?"

"No," she shakes her head before grinning, "but I do. You're beginning to stink."

"Good."

She laughs and lets her outstretched hand fall back into the water. "You need to enjoy things once in a while. Come swim with me. It's a beautiful day."

"What's so fucking beautiful about it?" he turns his scowl on everything around them, "Just a shit river in a shit place exactly like everywhere else."

Linette rolls her eyes and drops into the water, dipping her head back to let her hair float behind her. "You're very optimistic. Anyone ever tell you that?"

"No," Sandor growls, irritated with her sarcasm. "You're fucking stupid. Anyone ever tell you that?"

"Yes," she answers simply and rights herself, kneeling on the riverbottom so she can meet his eyes.

He clenches his jaw tightly. They just stare at each other for a moment. The water laps the dirt shore quietly and Linette watches as it almost touches the toe of his boots. Each time the water rises, she holds her breath in anticipation that it will touch him, but it doesn't.

"Beautiful things don't survive, girl," Sandor says suddenly, tearing her eyes from the water. She meets his gaze. He's watching her with a stoney expression, seriousness carved into every inch of his face. "Life will bite you in the ass one way or another. Even quicker and crueler if you're caught up in daydreams. You'd do well to remember that."

Linette chews on her tongue as she takes in his words. Takes in him. He holds his arms down by his sides. It's a leisurely position, but somehow it makes him look more tense than before. He stands rigid, his muscles coiled as he glares heavily. There's that anger in his eyes again, but also a resignation she doesn't expect to see.

"Just because you don't see the beauty in the world, doesn't mean it doesn't exist." She looks at him pointedly and his frown deepens, staring at the hand she's once again holding out to him. "Come here and I'll show you."

He eyes her like she's the most unnatural creature he's ever laid eyes on. His expression is a mixture of confusion and surprise, his dark brows furrowed and his equally dark gaze moving over her. She smiles at him and swims a little closer, her hand still outstretched. He tenses at the gesture. His arms once again cross over his chest. His nostrils flare, reminding Linette both of Stranger and of the fire-breathing dragons she's heard about in stories.

"I'm not getting in the bloody water, girl," he growls.

Her arm drops into the river, her face falling in disappointment. He doesn't seem to care. She twists her mouth in an attempt to hide her emotions from him. She doesn't know why she's surprised at these turn of events. She should have known he'd refuse.

As irritated as she is, the feeling fades when she suddenly has an idea. A wonderful idea… well, an awful idea really, but entirely too tempting to ignore. Her mind is made up before she even realizes it. Feeling mischievous, she cools her features in a mask of indifference and lazily swims backward, away from Sandor where he stands on the shore.

"Fine," she says when she feels the riverbottom descend sharply, disappearing from underneath her feet. She kicks to keep herself afloat. "You stay over there, pouting, while I enjoy this lovely day."

"Do you ever stop talking?"

"No. I'm not going to let the likes of you spoil my-"

She throws herself under the water mid-sentence, flinging her hands up and splashing as hard as she can. After a moment of thrashing, she pulls herself under. She stills then swims down a few more feet under the surface. The water grows colder the deeper she gets.

After floating there for a moment or two, the water suddenly shakes violently. Linette feels it surge above her and she smiles, triumphant. A large, warm hand wraps fiercely around her arm before she's yanked upward. She breathes in deeply as her head breaks the surface.

"What the bloody hell happened?!" Sandor demands, close by her head.

One of his arms wraps around her waist, holding her body tightly to his chest, while the other works to bring them to shore. He reaches the shallow waters quickly and stands. Linette's body warms instantly, now out of the water and against Sandor. She wipes a hand over her eyes to clear the water from her vision, only to see his face mere inches from hers. Worry mixes in with his anger as he looks her over. He frowns when he finds nothing wrong. She smiles as his eyes raise back up to meet hers.

"You're in the water," she comments, a full smirk settling on her lips.

All his worry disappears. His nostrils flare in the best impression of a snarling dragon. He growls deeply and before Linette can prepare herself, he throws her through the air toward the shore. She lands flat on her back giggling like mad. Her spine and skin tingle painfully, but she's laughing too hard to care.

Suddenly, Sandor's sword is thrust into the ground not even an inch from her head. Her eyes widen and she quickly looks at the man standing over her, one of his legs on either side of hers. He's glaring fiercely. Anger is coiled in the tightness of his muscles, his hand the tightest of all where it's wrapped around the hilt of the sword he stabbed into the ground. It's truly a fearsome sight…

Linette giggles.

"You're dripping on me," she points to her navel where his dark hair drips water onto her tunic. He clenches his jaw, clearly not amused, and leans down toward her.

"If my sword rusts," he snarls, his lip curling, "I'm going to fucking gut you with it."

She nods but continues to giggle, too amused to be afraid.

"Fucking cunt…" He pushes off his sword with disgust. His boots shake the ground as he stomps away. Linette hears his armor clank loudly and turns her head to see him drop down. He sits a good distance away from her, still fuming. She allows herself to giggle quietly for another moment before biting her lip and sighing.

"I promise your sword and boots will be fine," she says when he begins to tug the soaking leather shoes off his feet. He shoots her a glare and tosses them behind him.

"They better be," he grumbles, loosening the straps of his breastplate around his chest. She's always thought it was heavy, but he lifts it over his head as if it's nothing more than a feather. He loosens the rest of the metal pieces and sets them down on a nearby rock.

The new sight is suddenly odd to Linette. Armor seems a second skin for the man of such size and strength. Yet now, without it, he seems more natural somehow. She can see more of him. He sits in just his trousers and loose, dark green tunic. Wisps of dark hair cover what part of his chest she can see out of the low collar. He shoves his sleeves up to his elbows, revealing more hair on his arms, thick and coarse. Yet she catches a glimpse of something else.

On his right arm, where the hair suddenly grows thinner, is a stretch of burns. The scarring matches those on his face, red and bumpy, a mess of deformed skin and horror from long ago.

Linette's smile disappears immediately. She looks over the man beside her, the man who wears anger like it's a part of him. It seeps out of his every word and motion, burning anyone he looks at. Yet, seeing him now, he's nothing but a man. His feet are bare, his toes digging into the dirt on the bank of the river. He doesn't look angry. His face is smooth as he stares out across the river.

"Sandor," Linette speaks gently, apprehensive to pull him from what she feels is a moment of peace. He turns his head a fraction toward her. His dark eyes meet hers, waiting for her to continue.

"Tell me something about yourself... Please." She adds the last word when he frowns deeply.

"Why?" He turns away to throw a rock as hard as he can into the river. It sails through the air at lightning speed before slamming the water's surface.

"I don't know anything about you," Linette presses on, unable to back down or look away from him. "You know things about me. Where I come from, what I wanted to be when I grew up, my family… the things that have happened to me… but I don't know anything other than your name. Well, that and you like drinking and cursing."

"Aye." He smiles briefly before his expression turns sour again. He throws another rock, more viciously this time. "You won't like what I have to tell you, girl. It's best you don't know."

She shakes her head adamantly, "That's not true."

"How would you know?" His voice is like a lightning strike. He turns his body to face her fully. Anger burns in his eyes again. "How do you know I'm not a murderer? A rapist? The fucking monster in people's stories?"

"You're not a monster," Linette frowns deeply, genuine confusion taking over her face. "Why would anyone say that?"

Sandor's face blanks. It holds no expression as he looks at her. Her frown deepens. She'd wanted to learn more about him, but now she has more questions than ever. The man is even more mysterious than she thought possible. She opens her mouth to plead with him to share something, anything, about himself, but her movement shakes him from his stupor. His face grows hard again. He pushes himself off the ground roughly and stands with his back to her.

"Enough questions," he busies himself with putting his armor back on. "We've spent too much time here and we're almost out of money. There's a town nearby. We'll go there."

Linette sits up slowly as she watches him. He moves quickly, like he's in a hurry, but both he and Linette know they aren't on any kind of schedule. Her frown deepens. She feels as if she's upset him, but she's unsure what it is that could have upset him in the first place.

Eventually, Sandor turns back to face her, his armor and boots once again in place.

"Come on, girl. We don't have all day." He offers his hand and she takes it, letting him pull her to her feet. He begins to walk away the moment she's standing, but she clutches his fingers tightly. Though his dwarf hers in both size and strength, she somehow manages to keep hold. He freezes.

"Wait," she says, her voice quiet. He meets her gaze looking like he's about to snap at her. She holds his hand more firmly and speaks before he can. "I said I'd show you something beautiful. I may be a thief, but I'm not a liar."

She tugs on his hand. He shuffles toward her a little and she turns to face the water, holding his fingers tightly in hers. She can feel his discomfort, but he lets her pull him to the water's edge anyway. He stands at a more than respectable distance, his arm held out awkwardly with their joined hands down by Linette's side.

"Now close your eyes." Linette closes hers, not checking to see if he follows her order. He doesn't speak. He doesn't move. She takes that as a good sign and keeps going, "I know the world is horrible. People do terrible, ruthless things, but that doesn't mean everything is ruined. Listen."

She quiets. Listening herself. The whisper of the river reaches her ears, a soft cadence of water trickling over rocks and brush. Her hair tickles her face as the wind blows, rustling the leaves in the trees like the quietest, most secret of songs in the air. She smiles as the warmth on her skin grows, the light behind her eyelids brightening.

"It's peaceful here," she whispers without opening her eyes. "Just the forest. The trees, the wind, and the water… I think that's beautiful, but the best part is having someone with you. Someone you trust. It's not good to be alone."

She squeezes Sandor's hand gently before letting go. Her eyes flutter open. She tilts her head slightly to see him watching her with a blank expression, his dark eyes focused on hers intensely.

Her eyes crinkle as she smiles softly, "I may not know much about you, but I trust you."

"That's stupid," he says, his voice barely a whisper, "It's going to get you killed."

She shrugs, "I'll die eventually. Better to go early knowing a few decent people than to live long and die alone."

He continues to stare. Though his face is blank, his eyes clash with emotions she can't read. She watches them churn for a moment, trying to name just one of them but coming up empty handed. With a small sigh, she turns on her heel and heads toward Stranger.

"Come on. If we're going to that town, I'd rather get there before nightfall."

Stranger is still wary of her, so she stops a foot or so away from him. Everything is silent for a moment before she hears Sandor's heavy boots on the ground. His hand falls onto her shoulder and she turns, expecting him to lift her onto the horse, but he doesn't. He watches her for a second, deciding something. She waits patiently. Eventually, he makes up his mind.

"My house is Clegane," he says, dropping his hand from her shoulder, "Sandor Clegane. That's my name."

He's given her something about himself. Just like she asked. She tries to hold back her smile, but her lips turn up effortlessly despite herself.

"Alright," she nods once, "Would you prefer I call you Clegane? Or is Sandor alright?"

"Doesn't make a difference to me, girl," he grunts before lifting her onto the horse. She tangles her finger into Stranger's mane and smiles down at the tall man standing beside her.

"Thank you, Sandor."

He grunts in reply before swinging himself up and settling in behind her. Her free arm immediately wraps around his waist. Without another word between them, he takes the reins and they're riding through the forest once again.


	6. Little Bird

**Chapter 6: Little Bird**

It takes but an hour to reach the town. Their clothes have long been dried by the setting sun by then and luckily too, because the last light of day disappears just as they enter through the town's high, stone wall. No one guards it, but the sight alone makes Linette nervous. She doesn't like feeling trapped.

"Why would they build this if no one's going to guard it?" she asks, eyeing the wall warily as it disappears behind them.

"Could be anything," Sandor grunts, "Raiders they were keepin' out could've moved on."

"Or the raiders won," she gives him a pointed look.

He nods. "Aye, could be. Don't matter to us one way or another. Long as they've got ale and fat purses, we'll get what we came for."

Linette's fingers tighten on Stranger's mane. She bites her bottom lip and nods distractedly, watching the town appear before them. It's like all the other cities they've passed through. Dark buildings and dark people. They rush through the dirty streets yelling obscenities to everyone and no one at the same time.

"Put your hood up, girl," Sandor orders suddenly. Linette doesn't know why he said it, but the urgency in his voice keeps her questions at bay. She pulls her hood up quickly, losing sight of half the street but feeling much more secure.

Sandor quickly finds a place to settle Stranger. It's a large, run-down stable tucked down an alley somewhere. A few other horses mill about. Linette sees men's boots as they walk by, slowing as they near then picking up their pace quickly. She assumes Sandor is glaring.

"You get coin to last a few days," he mutters, his voice by her ear. "We don't need much. Couple of coppers should be enough. Find me when you're done. No fucking around. Got it?"

She nods as he dismounts Stranger. His serious tone is somewhat startling, but she's too focused on her upcoming job to ask questions.

He quickly pulls her down. She expects him to let her go immediately, to head off in the direction of the nearest tavern, but his hands wrap around her shoulders instead. Startled, she looks up to meet his gaze. Her hood starts to slip off, but he catches it, tugging it back in place enough to hide her face from everyone except him.

"You see any trouble, you find me," he orders, his dark gaze intense. "If you can't, you come here and wait. Got it?"

"Okay…" she nods slowly. She gets the sense he knows something she doesn't. Her eyes flit between his, trying to find some hint of the danger she thinks he's seen. "... Do you think I'll find trouble?"

He shrugs noncommittally. His hand slips from her shoulder, and he lets go of her hood. She frowns, confused. Suddenly, her dagger appears in front of her. The one he took from her months ago. He holds it in his palm, the handle facing her.

"Just in case." He grabs her hand and curls her fingers around the hilt. It's weight feels familiar. Safe. She nods before sliding it into the sheath she still wears on her belt. Sandor seems satisfied.

"Don't be scared to use it, girl," he orders seriously.

"I'm not. I can handle myself with a blade, remember?"

"Aye," he nods, "I remember."

She sees a flash of a tiny, barely there smile on his lips before he's turning around and striding away from her. His size and strength dwarf the lesser men he passes, all of which scramble out of his way. The sight is amusing. Linette laughs lightly to herself before slinking out of the stable.

"Time to work," she mumbles and surveys the streets around her.

Sandor has turned to the left. Drunken men stumble around a larger building down the way. The tavern undoubtedly. She turns to the right. More people litter the streets. It's too late for the market to still be open. She can't think of another reason for them to be out and about, but she doesn't question it. More people means more money.

Without another thought she walks down the path to her right. She's careful to keep her head down. Sandor wanted her to stay hidden, for whatever reason, and she's not too keen to figure out why.

People pass by her without so much as a glance. Though she's thankful for it, she can't help wishing the crowd was thicker. It's easier to pickpocket when everyone's huddled together, pushing and shoving each other. No one notices a quick hand in their pocket then. Now though, she doesn't dare risk it. One wrong move and she could lose her hand.

Instead, she follows the flow of the small groups of people. A few turns and they've come to the doors of an inn. A wooden sign above the door reads The Glaive. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses echoes into the street. Shadows move behind the warmly lit windows. Perhaps there will be enough of a crowd inside…

Linette pushes through the door. Heat and the bitter scent of ale hit her almost immediately. The room is quite large, stretching back with enough space for a dozen or so tables to line the wall. Each is full. Mostly by men.

Armored men.

With lions on their breastplates.

Linette immediately moves to the side, trying not to be seen. Her breathing accelerates painfully when she hears the disgusting voice in her head.

"Lookie here, boys," he calls to the men in the shop, his eyes never leaving hers, "I found the cunt!"

The room starts to spin, and she falls into the nearest open seat, not even seeing those around her.

"Bring her on in!" They call, laughing that horrible laugh again. Her brothers are screaming now, telling her to run, to fight, but she can't. The man yanks her through the threshold as if she's nothing more than a straw doll.

She closes her eyes tightly, digging her nails into her arms.

She's standing face to face with a man. He's slim and balding. His breath tickles her face, smelling of ale and rotten food. He reaches out to caress her cheek with his knuckles. She recoils but his touch follows her.

"Hey there, pretty lass," he sneers, "We've been lookin' for you."

Tears spill from Linette's eyes. She's once again glad for her hood. Her body shakes like a leaf. Helplessly. Weakly. Anger surges through her. Anger at the men who did this to her, who made her into this snivelling, terrified girl, but also anger at herself. She doesn't remember becoming this person, but here she is. Crying in a tavern.

Ferocious determination swells in her chest. She angrily wipes her face dry and sets her red-rimmed but intense gaze on the soldiers around her. They may not have been the ones to invade her home that day, to invade her, but they were going to pay for it. Handsomely.

She pushes herself off the bench without another thought. She moves through the room clumsily, muttering to herself in the best impression of a drunk man she can manage. It seems to work. The soldiers are soon laughing and pointing, telling her to slow down. She bumps into them. They right her quickly, taking no offense and sending her on her way with no clue that she's just snagged their coin.

The pocket of her cloak grows so full she doesn't have room for anything else. She stands by the door, grinning triumphantly underneath the safety of her hood. The idiots are none the wiser. They continue to drink.

Stumbling, Linette leaves the inn. The second her feet hit the dirt road outside, she straightens up. Unbridled joy courses through her like a breeze. It's hard to keep the spring out of her step as she walks, but she's honestly not trying that hard. She's just won against those assholes. It's a small victory, but she's proud all the same.

She catches sight of the stables and her grin widens. She's excited to show Sandor her haul. He'll undoubtedly want to buy more ale, but she's more than happy to help. Maybe she'll get a real smile out of him for once…

With that in mind, her step picks up. She's almost passed the stables when a hand catches her arm and she's roughly yanked into an alley.

Her back hits the wall painfully and, before she can scream, a knife is pressed to her neck. She freezes.

"Why you hidin' from us, beautiful?" A man's voice sneers and suddenly her hood is yanked off her head.

Linette's heart stops. Circled around her are four men dressed in that awful armor. She's terrified that they saw her stealing. The one holding the knife to her neck is lean. He looks young, around her age, with blond hair and a twisted smirk.

"Didn't I tell ya I saw 'er hair? Only a pretty lass has hair like that." He quirks a brow at one of the other soldiers. This one is older. He rubs at the dark scruff on his face before tossing his hand out at the blond one.

"You're right," he says, sounding amused, "Guess I don't have the eye for it like you do."

The younger one's smirk widens, "No. You don't."

He turns back to Linette suddenly. The knife presses harder to her neck and she feels the sharp pain of it cutting into her skin. Deep. Hot blood drips down her neck.

"Stop! Stop!" she cries, pressing herself harder against the wall to get away from the knife. The pain stops as it rests against her skin.

"Oh, you want me to stop?" The man raises his eyebrows like he's surprised. The sight sets Linette's blood boiling, but she keeps the fear on her face. The man leans down until his face is close to hers. He licks his lips. "Well, you see, lass, you're mine now. Your life is mine. You gotta earn it back."

The other men chuckle which only emboldens the one in front of her. He smirks lecherously, his eyes drifting over Linette's body. Her blood runs cold when she realizes they don't want her because she was stealing. It's much worse.

"Why you coverin' up? Got somehin' to hide?" His hand shoots out, moving his blade to the neck of her tunic and slicing it down the middle. Cold air floods over her exposed breasts. Blood pumps in her ears. She hears the men laughing, sees the blonde one's hand reaching toward her, feels his knife at the top of her trousers, and she acts without thinking twice.

In one motion, she's drawn her dagger and embedded it deep into the side of the man's neck. His eyes widen. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out other than a river of blood. The knife against Linette's navel disappears and he falls to the ground.

"You bitch!" One of the other soldiers yells, but she doesn't stay long enough to know which. She sheathes her dagger and sprints out of the alley. Her head rushes as she turns the corner. She suddenly has the urge to vomit.

"We'll take care of him! You get the cunt!"

The man's voice has her running faster than she's ever run in her life. She heads toward the tavern she saw Sandor going to, but just as she nears it, a group of men come around the corner. Their armor gleams and she immediately throws herself down the nearest road. Her feet skid against the dirt. She almost falls into a pile of garbage, but manages to stay upright and continues running. She doesn't know where she's going, but she knows she can't stop. Men's voices yell in the distance. Looking for her, she's sure.

She suddenly catches sight of the stables. Sandor told her to go there if she can't find him. She forces herself to run faster. Her legs throb and her lungs burn, but she doesn't slow. She bursts through the entrance. The horses startle at her sudden appearance. She ignores it, her eyes wildly searching for somewhere, anywhere to hide. She catches sight of a tiny hayloft. It sits in the back corner of the stables above only one of the stalls. She runs to it.

There's no ladder, but she hauls herself to stand on the stall door. The russet colored horse inside bucks up immediately. Her eyes widen and she scrambles to pull herself up without getting kicked. It takes a moment, but she soon finds herself lying face down in the hayloft. The hay tickles her cheeks. She pushes through it until she's as far back as she can get.

Now in her hiding place, she stills. Her breaths come out in wheezes, painful gasps that shake her body. It's loud. She slams her hands over her mouth to quiet herself. It works, but she feels dizzy with the lack of air. She's about to give into the pain when she hears running feet and the clink of armor.

She freezes. Her fingers tighten around her face. The man is in the stables now. She hears him panting.

"I know you're in here, you little bitch," he snarls. Linette recognizes his voice. It's the man from the alley, the older one with the beard. She pushes herself further into the hayloft.

"You killed my friend," he says, walking slowly down the aisle below her. She hears the stall doors slam as he shoves them open violently. "When I find you, I'm taking you back to the others. We'll fuck you then. Over and over until you bleed, until you beg us to stop."

Linette suppresses a sob. Her palms grow slick with sweat and tears.

"I bet you'll give in early," he continues, sounding much closer now, "One or two turns and you'll be crying for us to-"

He stops suddenly with a gasping intake of breath.

"Crying for you to what?"

Linette's heart lurches at the sound of Sandor's gravelly voice.

"What?!" he snarls with fury, "Don't have anything to say to me?"

"P-please…" the other man stutters. He sounds pitiful.

"To hell with your pleases," Sandor laughs harshly, "I'm going to fuck you like the cunt you are. Try not to scream."

A sword rips into flesh. It isn't quick. The blade moves slowly, drawing out the moment for as long as possible. The man screams, but it's muffled, barely a sound at all, and Linette knows Sandor has his hand pressed firmly over the man's mouth. Something squishy hits the floor. The man's cries stop. There's a loud thud as his body falls to the ground.

The stables are silent other than the sound of cloth against steel. Linette holds her breath.

"You can come out now, little bird."

She drops her hands immediately. The tears flow down her face freely now. She weakly pushes herself forward, inching closer to the opening, but the sound of Sandor's boots coming to stand beneath it makes her still. She looks down quickly to see her ripped tunic and breasts. Her hands shake as she tries to close the hole that exposes her so indecently.

"Girl?" Sandor taps his knuckles on the wood of the hayloft. She sees the tips of his fingers briefly and leans away. Her fist tightens over the fabric of her tunic.

"Linette?" He asks more roughly. His voice is harsh but something about hearing him say her name makes her feel just a little safer.

"Do-do you have a tunic I can wear?" she asks, her voice timid and watery. There's a heavy pause before he speaks again.

"No."

Her lip trembles and she tries once again in vain to cover herself up. She doesn't want to go down there like this. She doesn't want him to see her like this. She doesn't think she can handle that. It might just break her beyond any-

Her thoughts halt when a blanket is suddenly thrown up to land by her feet. She picks it up immediately. It's rough and smells heavily of the stables, but she doesn't think she's seen anything so wonderful. She pulls it around her front, tucking the ends under her cloak and over her shoulders securely.

"Okay," she says, now fully covered, and shuffles toward the edge to poke her head out. Sandor stands below her, his face still much closer than she expects. She gives him her best smile, which isn't really a smile at all, and eases herself out to sit at the edge of the loft. Sandor holds his arms up. She lets herself drop off with absolutely no doubt that he'll catch her.

His hands grip her securely under the arms before setting her gently on the floor. She suddenly finds it difficult to meet his gaze. She wrings her hands in front of her.

"Thank you," she whispers. She doesn't specify what exactly she's thanking him for, but she knows he understands.

His large hand is under her chin then, nudging her head up. She doesn't resist. Her eyes settle on him, but he's focused entirely on her neck. He tilts her head up further and she winces as the skin around her cut tightens.

"This cunt do that to ya?" He asks, his voice once again rough and angry.

"No," she shakes her head gently, "Someone else."

"You get him?"

"Right in the neck."

He chuckles before lowering the hand under her chin enough for their eyes to meet. His face is serious again. "He dead?"

"Yes," she speaks calmly despite what it is she speaks of, "I killed him."

"Good."

With that, she's in his arms. Her arms wrap around his neck as he carries her toward Stranger, one arm under her knees, the other cradling her back. They're atop the horse in one breath and bursting through the stable doors in another. The dark street is filled with the voices of men.

"Face down, girl," Sandor pushes Linette's head into his chest. She hurries to pull up her hood.

Stranger jolts forward suddenly and she clutches onto Sandor's armor for dear life. They bolt through the streets. She hears people around them but doesn't dare look. The noise of town fades quickly to a murmur before going silent. Stranger's thundering feet carries steadily for miles. Sandor doesn't speak and doesn't slow, so she doesn't ask. She holds on tighter, letting him take them wherever he wants. She doesn't care as long as it isn't where they were before.


	7. Not Afraid

**Chapter 7: Not Afraid**

Linette's arms are stiff by the time they stop. She's not sure how long she's been clutching onto Sandor, but it feels like hours. Stranger huffs tiredly as he's slowed to a walk. The night is quiet around them. Still. She listens closely to Sandor's breathing. In and out. Steady and soothing.

He makes a clicking sound with his tongue and Stranger stops. She knows she should probably move, but she doesn't. She's comfortable for once. The feeling is rare, and she doesn't want to lose it. Her fingers tighten on the straps of Sandor's armor. She feels him shuffle. His arms encircle her, pulling her closer to his body, and he pushes himself up, standing in the stirrups, then throws a leg over and slides off. His feet hit the ground roughly. Linette's arms tighten around his neck.

He carries her a few steps before setting her down. She sighs at the loss of his arms around her, of his comfort, but her disappointment is quickly taken by surprise. Her eyes settle on the familiar place. The Blackwater tributary flows gently beside her. She's sitting on the same rock Sandor had placed his armor on earlier. After she tricked him into the water.

Her questioning eyes settle on him, but his back is facing her now. He's rummaging around in his bag that hangs from Stranger's saddle. She smiles gently even though he can't see it.

"Need to clean that wound," he says gruffly, turning back with a cloth and a wineskin in his hand. She grimaces but doesn't protest.

He crosses the distance between them quickly and kneels before her, still a head taller than her even though she's sitting on the rock. There's question in his eyes. It takes Linette a moment to figure out what he's asking, but she nods once she does. With more care than she imagined possible for the giant man, he gently tugs the blanket down. Not enough to fall, but enough to expose the bloody mess on her neck and upper chest. He pours some of the wine over the gash on her neck. She winces at the burn, but the cloth touching her neck soothes the pain. Sandor's touch is gentle, his calloused fingers softly dabbing her wound with the cloth. Once the blood is gone, he dips the cloth into the river then washes the wine off her skin.

He begins to move away the second he's done, but she catches his wrist before he can get up. He stills. His eyes meet hers and she smiles. A real smile.

"Thank you," she says the words as genuinely as she can, wanting him to know how truly grateful she is. "For this and for earlier."

He nods once before standing. She releases her hold on him, watching as he moves around. He returns the cloth and the wineskin to his bag before coming toward her again. His fingers work at the straps of his armor as he walks. Before she knows it, he's down to his green tunic again, his armor carefully set aside.

"What are you-" she begins only to cut herself off, blushing, when Sandor reaches down and lifts his tunic over his head.

He stands before her in nothing other than his trousers and boots. She can't help but stare. It's undeniable that the man is strong, but seeing him like this is overwhelming. His muscles slide under his skin, thick and powerful. Dark hair fills his broad chest, covering scars that stretch out over the rest of his skin, gleaming like small rivers. He has scars everywhere. Of every shape and size. Linette wonders not for the first time what he's been through.

"Here," he thrusts his arm out toward her, his tunic hanging from his fingers. She takes it tentatively in both her hands. Without another word, he turns his back to her, putting his armor back on.

She watches him a moment before standing. She turns her back to him too, shedding her cloak, the blanket, and her ruined tunic.

Standing there, bare, so near to a man sends heat flooding through her body. She quickly pulls his tunic over her head. His scent covers her: leather, iron, and ash. She breathes it in deeply before straightening it. It's massive. The hem brushes her knees, the sleeves dangling low over her hands. She rolls them up quickly before turning around.

Sandor, though fully dressed, stands with his back to her still. She smiles easily.

"You really are a gentleman," she says quietly, tucking a loose curl behind her ear when he turns around.

"I told you already. I'm not a fucking gentleman," he curses, but his voice doesn't hold any malice. His eyes are soft for once. Linette smiles again.

"I have something for you," she remembers suddenly and turns around, digging through the pockets of her cloak. It takes a moment to balance all the coins and purses, but she manages to stack them on her arms. Grinning widely, she turns to face him. He cocks a brow.

"Looks like more than a few coppers…" His lips turn up in a small smile despite his chiding tone. Linette laughs and walks forward to drop her haul at his feet. He doesn't look at it.

"I know," she shrugs and tugs awkwardly on the too-big sleeves at her wrist. "I just saw all those lions and I wanted to make them pay."

Sandor frowns, "Pay?"

"For hurting my family… for hurting me," she whispers the words and the air grows tense. She's afraid to look at Sandor. Not because she doesn't want to see him, but because she doesn't want him to see her.

"Don't worry, girl," he says firmly. Her eyes flick up to see his stoney, serious face, "I'll keep you safe. Won't be hard. Everyone's afraid of me anyway."

She laughs weakly. Wiping quickly at her watery eyes, she turns her head up to look at him fully. Though half his face is hidden from her behind a curtain of black hair, she sees the sincerity of his words. His dark eyes meet hers, serious and certain. She smiles softly.

"I'm not afraid of you."

He blinks, startled. His brow furrows as he takes her in, his eyes running from her horribly tangled silver hair, over her pale, freckled face, to the gash on her neck, then to his shirt that practically swallows her.

"No," he says, his eyes on hers again, "You're not."

She's shocked. He didn't give her a warning. No poorly concealed threat about how she should be afraid of him. He simply watches her. Happiness surges through her. She gives him her widest, most genuine smile.

"I'll make the fire this time," she says quickly, "I want to repay you for saving me."

He snorts, but sits down on the riverbank anyway. "You've already repaid me." He waves his hand over the pile of money.

She shrugs, "Repay you more, then. I think you deserve it."

She doesn't mention the other reason she's making the fire. That she sees how he flinches from the flames every night. It's a rational fear she decides, his burns tell her that much. She's often wondered why he even bothers to build the fire at all, but she has the feeling he isn't doing it for himself. Her certainty about him being a gentleman only grows.

"Stay here," she orders playfully, pointing her finger at him, "I'll be right back."

"Don't get lost, little bird. I don't want to have to find you in this damned forest."

"You won't have to," she laughs happily before disappearing through the trees.

It takes her about twenty minutes to find enough wood to last the night, and ten more minutes to have a fire steadily blazing on the shore. Sandor sits as far away from the flames as he can and still be warm, just like Linette expects him to.

"Here," she tosses him the blanket from the stables, "It'll keep you warm. You can sit back further if you'd like. I know you don't want to be close to the fire."

He scowls heavily. The blanket it thrown back at her with an angry wave of his arm. She catches it clumsily, startled by the violent reaction.

"I don't need the fucking blanket," he snarls.

"O-okay," she stutters, "You don't have to take it. I just thought you'd be more comfortable away from the fire since-"

"Well, you thought wrong." He's glaring at her so fiercely she doesn't dare say anything else.

She nods instead. Averting her eyes, she gingerly sits down. She spreads the blanket over her crossed legs, playing with a loose thread and listening to the crackle of the fire. She sighs sadly. Just when she's comfortable with him, when she thinks he's letting his guard down, his rough edges reappear and she's suddenly lost again.

The tension in the air is making her uncomfortable. She can practically feel the heat of his angry eyes on her. Biting her lip, she lays down on her side. It would probably be best to just go to sleep…

"My brother did it to me when I was six," Sandor's deep yet alarmingly quiet voice makes her eyes snap open.

She turns to look at him, but he isn't looking at her. He's watching the fire. There's a far off look in his eyes as he runs a hand over the right side of his face. His fingers brush the burn marks like he's afraid to touch them. Linette's breath catches in her throat, realizing what exactly he's about to tell her

"Gregor. He thought I stole his toy," he continues, sounding much smaller than he is, "There was a wood carver below the keep of my father's house. We were given a couple wooden toys. I don't know what I got, I was more interested in Gregor's. It was a wooden knight. Beautifully made, all painted, with strings to move the arms… My brother was six-foot tall at that time. He was already a squire. He had no use for the toy so I took it." The hand on his face stills. "He found me by the fire at night. He didn't say a word, just picked me up under his arm and stuffed me to the coals. Like I was a piece of meat."

Tears fill Linette's eyes. She sits up slowly. The blanket falls off her legs. Sandor's eyes drift to hers at the rustle of cloth. They hold more pain than she imagined existed in the world.

"I screamed and screamed," he murmurs, "The smell was bad, the pain was worse, but the worst thing was that it was my brother who did it. And my father protected him. Told everyone my bedding caught fire… then four years later, Gregor was knighted."

He's back to watching the flames. Everything is quiet. Linette sits across the fire from him, her heart aching almost unbearably. He sniffs harshly and looks down at his hands where they lay in his lap, fiddling with something she can't see.

Without a second thought, she's standing.

She doesn't speak and neither does he. Her feet pad against the dirt until she's standing before him. The large man's shoulders are hunched in, his head hanging down so his hair hides him from view. She reaches out slowly. Her fingers brush his chin. They look small beside him, but her touch is enough to raise his eyes to meet hers.

She takes him in. Sorrow fills his features though she can tell he's fighting it, trying to push the emotions down as far as he can. His hair still covers the right side of his face. She reaches out with her other hand to brush it aside, but his massive hand catches her wrist before she can touch him.

"Don't," he orders angrily.

She holds his gaze. Her grey eyes flit between his. Slowly and without breaking eye contact, she stretches her hand toward his face. His fingers tighten around her wrist, keeping her in place. It's painful.

"I said don't," he snarls and yanks her closer so their faces are only inches apart. Darkness fills his eyes. His hot, angry breaths hit her in the face. She meets his eyes evenly.

"I'm not afraid of you."

Her words cause him to falter. His fingers loosen just the slightest, and she immediately begins reaching toward him again. Their eyes battle for a moment, then, he lets go of her.

Her fingers timidly weave into his hair at his scalp. It's surprisingly soft despite being so dirty. She runs her fingers through it before gently pushing it away from his face. He winces. She freezes, afraid she's hurt him somehow, but she sees only hesitance on his face. She relaxes. Her lips turn up reassuringly. She rests her hands against his cheeks. Her fingers brush softly over the bumpy, scarred skin of his burn.

"I'm sorry," she says, utter sincerity in her words.

His eyes fly to hers. His body is tense, his muscles coiled tightly, but his face softens in uncertainty and surprise. The pain in his eyes is so obvious to Linette now, and she realizes it's always been there. Hidden underneath the anger.

Her hands move to his head, running softly over his hair to pull him into her chest. He doesn't move as she holds him close. Her cheek rests against the top of his head.

"You didn't deserve it," she whispers, her breath rustling his hair, "I'm sorry. Your brother sounds awful."

A weak chuckle rumbles from his chest. "Aye. He is. I hope you never meet him."

She nods before pulling away. Her hands rest gently on either side of his face. Her lips turn up a little.

"Maybe it's him who should hope he never meets me," she says with a twinkle in her eye. "Otherwise I'll have to give him a piece of my mind."

"He'd slaughter you before you could open your mouth."

"Maybe I'd get a hit or two in…"

Sandor quirks a brow, "He's bigger than me, lass."

"Oh…"

A rough burst of laughter escapes him. She feels the featherlight touch of his fingers moving up her arms before his hands circle her elbows. He pulls her off him gently. She lets him, her hands falling to her sides.

"We'll get you a real sword tomorrow," he says gruffly, standing to tower above her. "I'll show you how to fight then."

"I already know how to fi-"

His sword is suddenly out, positioned directly over her heart. She doesn't flinch, but gives him an irritated look.

"Doesn't seem like you do," he says, his brow raised. A roll of Linette's eyes makes him chuckle. He sheaths his sword then places his hands on his hips, a serious expression now on his face. "I might not always be as quick as I was today. You need to be able to protect yourself when I'm not there."

"Protect myself better, you mean?" she says, wanting credit for defending herself earlier. A ghost of a smile passes his lips before he nods.

"Aye. Better."

She grins, "Can we start tomorrow?"

"So eager, little bird." A real smile appears this time. He leans back to look at her fully, "Are you that excited to kill?"

She frowns and shakes her head immediately. "No. I don't want to kill anyone, but I will if I have to."

Sandor's eyes turn intense.

"You can't hesitate, girl. One second and you're done. Men are cunts. When it comes to fucking, they'll do anything. Especially to get a pretty one like you. You need to be able to do anything, just like they are."

She nods slowly, letting his words sink in. They're true, of course they are, but it doesn't make them any easier to swallow. She chews softly on the inside of her cheek before looking up at him.

"You'll teach me?"

"That's what I said, didn't I? Fuck, woman. Listen."

She laughs heartily. Her heart swells in excitement. With a small bounce on her toes and a grin up at Sandor, she turns around, practically skipping to her place by the dwindling fire. She drapes the fallen blanket over her shoulders before sitting. Sandor sprawls out on the other side, still a good distance away from the fire. He rests his head on a rock, tilting his head back and placing his hands over his stomach. A smirk creeps onto Linette's face.

"So…" she drawls, "You think I'm pretty?"

He doesn't even open his eyes. "Aye. Pretty fucking annoying."

A laugh bubbles out of her. Grinning, she turns to curl up by the fire. Sandor makes an irritated sound, but she sees his lips turn upward just the slightest. Feeling accomplished, she closes her eyes.

"Good night, Sandor."

"Mmhm."

It's not anything close to an actual response, but it's something. Definitely better than cursing or silence. She doesn't think her smile can possibly widen any further, but it does. With a small, contented sigh, she drifts off, the sound of the river and Sandor's steady breathing lulling her to sleep.


	8. The Raven Boy

**Chapter 8: The Raven Boy**

Before the lions destroyed everything Linette knew, she dreamt of things other than their twisted smiles and their painful touch. The old dreams weren't always pleasant, often filled with a loneliness so deep that she woke up with tears glistening on her cheeks, but they were always welcome. She'd had them since she could remember. Where everyone else she knew dreamt of monsters or battles, pirates and far off lands, Linette dreamt of the Raven Boy.

Every one of her dreams included him. She'd never seen the Boy except in her dreams. Her brothers used to tease her mercilessly on that fact, claiming she'd fallen in love with a haunting spirit, yet she knew that wasn't true. She didn't love him. Not in the way her brother's thought at least. Each dream of him left her longing for him in the same way she would long for Darris or Toman if they left on a journey. It was as if an important piece of her was missing, hidden somewhere too far for her to reach.

Linette feels like the hole in her chest is bigger than ever. The Raven Boy hasn't appeared in her dreams in little over a year. Since the lions. It feels wrong not to see him. He's grown with her, from a small child to a man. She's seen him weeping, laughing, raging. Never has she seen the reasons for these emotions, but she's felt them nevertheless. Shared in them. Her heart is almost incomplete without the Raven Boy's feelings to intermix with hers.

So, when she saw him for the first time since the lions, she cried when she woke. Tears of joy.

The dream wasn't pleasant. A winter storm raged. She could feel the icy gusts of wind slice her cheeks, feel the hot freeze in her fingertips. The Raven Boy was scared. He was bound and alone. Linette's heart reached out to his, wanting to offer him comfort, and awoke just as his face twisted, his fear turning to a burning, white-hot rage.

As terrifying as the feeling was, Linette is never afraid of the Raven Boy. She doesn't know who he is or if he's even real, but she trusts him as much as she has anyone else she's ever deemed worthy. Maybe more.

Seeing him again makes her feel whole. The lions don't haunt her as relentlessly as they had before, and she can feel herself becoming her again. It's just another thing she's grateful to Sandor for. He's calmed her and now, her Raven Boy is back.


	9. Our Place

**Chapter 9: Our Place**

"Tell me once more. What is it called?"

Sandor huffs impatiently at her question.

"A shortsword."

They're standing in a wide field somewhere halfway between Acorn Hall and the river they left that morning. It's a clear, breezy day. The perfect training weather according to Sandor. Linette isn't sure what that means, but she doesn't disagree. It feels wonderful. The sun beats down gently, the wind rippling her new tunic.

Sandor bought it and her sword in some town earlier that afternoon. It's the first tunic she's owned in a year that's actually her own size. The grey sleeves billow out as she holds the sword in her hand.

"It's marvelous," she awes at the blade. The hilt is silver, covered in a layer of tough, red leather that makes it easy to grip. It's blade is smooth and shiny, about the size of Sandor's forearm, or one and a half of hers, which makes it light. She barely feels it sitting in her hand.

Sandor crosses his arms over his chest and rolls his eyes. "Don't tell me you've never seen a shortsword before, blacksmith's daughter."

"Maybe once or twice," she stops looking at her sword to turn her eyes on him, "My father mostly made longswords or broadswords for House Stark or House Tyrell."

"The Lannisters probably didn't like that."

She shrugs, "Father never said anything. He didn't want me to be involved with politics."

"Your father was smart," Sandor nods in approval before unsheathing his broadsword. It's only slightly smaller than Linette herself. She marvels at how he holds it so naturally, his thick fingers wrapped around the hilt like it's second nature. She supposes it is. He bends his knees slightly in a defensive stance, his eyes gleaming, "Now let's see how smart your father really was."

She immediately becomes nervous. Her hand tightens over the hilt of her sword, but she doesn't move otherwise.

"You're not going to give me a lesson or anything?"

"Practice is the best lesson." He twirls his sword expertly, letting the massive blade slice the air before holding it before him. "Besides, I need to see how good you are, if your scrawny arms can actually hold that there blade of yours."

"But how am I supposed to counter you?"she asks, staring at him with wide eyes, "I've never fought anyone your size!"

"And you probably never will again. Get good at fighting me, girl, and you can beat anyone."

He's right. Again. It's really getting old.

"Can you please teach me something first?" she asks, watching his sword warily, "I'd feel a lot better if you did."

"Steel doesn't care about your feelings," he scoffs before taking a step toward her, "and neither do I."

He raises his sword high above his head, positioned to bring it down right on Linette's head. She quickly drops to her knees and rolls to the left. Her free hand digs into the dirt to steady herself as she lands on her hands and knees. Sandor's sword slams into the ground where she was just seconds ago.

"Fight me, girl!" He yells, swinging his sword at her again.

She doesn't roll away this time. She raises her sword to catch his hit. Their blades clash loudly, protecting her from the blow, but she's not prepared for the sheer power of his swing. She's sent tumbling backward.

"Don't fucking lay there!" Sandor bellows, and she immediately rolls to her right, away from him. His sword slices through the air where her neck had been. She's panting now, scrambling to stand.

"Good! If you lose the upper hand, find your footing before anything else."

She listens to him immediately. Holding her sword in a tight grip, she centers her weight on her feet, her blade held defensively in front of her. Sandor grins. He twirls his blade again as he advances.

"What do you do if I do this?"

He thrusts the blade directly out, centering the strike at Linette's chest. She pivots on her feet. Her hands raise her sword to meet his from the side before she uses all her strength to try and force it to the ground. It's a move she's done countless times with her brothers. Though they were full-grown men, they weren't anywhere near Sandor's size. His blade barely moves despite the fact that she's putting all her strength behind the attack.

"That only works if you're strong enough!"

Sandor yanks his sword away, and Linette tumbles forward immediately from her own momentum. She doesn't fall this time, though. She keeps her body low and catches herself quickly, returning to her defensive stance as soon as she can.

"Better," Sandor nods in approval, "You didn't land on your ass this time."

She makes a sour face but he doesn't react. Like before, he holds the hilt down by his hip as if waiting for an attack.

"Your turn now, girl. Come at me."

She looks at him like he's crazy. "Why would I do that?"

"Does it look like I'm trying to fucking sing to you?" he scowls. "What are you going to do if someone tries to kill you?"

"Run away if I can."

"No. Someone comes at you, you kill them before they kill you. Never give them the chance to get you later."

She scoffs, "Even if they're bigger than me!?"

"They're all fucking bigger than you," he snarls and takes a threatening step forward. "Now stop being a pussy. Fight me."

She hesitates.

"Fight me!" His stride is wide this time, crossing almost all the distance between them. Panting, Linette rushes forward. She's terrified, but she knows she needs this. She needs to get better.

Her first instinct is to strike out at him with her blade, but she knows none of her attacks will do any damage. She won't be able to counter his blows due to his power. He's stronger than her. She has to be faster.

She raises her sword like she's going to drive it down on his. He positions himself to block it and, just as his broadsword is set to catch hers, she twists her body around. Her sword still falls on his, but she's not trying to strike him anymore. Instead, she throws her leg out and swipes it under his.

It almost works. He stumbles for only a moment before throwing his elbow back. It slams into her chest. The wind is immediately knocked out of her. She falls onto her back harshly, her mouth opening as she gasps for air.

Sandor's blade appears before her, positioned directly above her breastbone.

"Not bad. We've got some work to do though, girl."

She simply nods, unable to say anything. Sandor's blade moves away and she immediately lets go of her own. She rolls onto her hands and knees, coughing harshly. Her eyes water. She groans and let her forehead rest against the ground.

"Why'd you hit me so hard?" she gasps through her coughing fit.

"You won't get better if I go too easy on you."

He's right. Again. The asshole.

She glares at the ground as she finally catches her breath. With a small groan, she flops down on her bum, leaning back on her hands. Sandor stands over her. His hand rests lazily on the hilt of his sword where it sits on his hip, sheathed. He's watching her with an amused expression. She glares at him.

"Don't tell me you weren't going easy on me just now. You could've won without even trying."

"Yes. I could," he grins. It look almost like a wild animal, all teeth and gleaming eyes.

She watches him curiously for a second before throwing her arms out to let her body fall back on the ground. The tall grass rustles beneath her. She closes her eyes and breathes in the sweet smell of earth.

"You tired already, girl?"

The grass shifts as he comes to stand over her. She cracks one eye open.

"I'm recuperating."

He snorts, "You think your attacker's gonna let you fucking recuperate?"

"No, but you will."

Linette closes her eyes again. Sandor grumbles unintelligibly. She grins widely when she hears him sit down beside her.

"Five minutes," he barks, "Then it's back to training. I don't care if you're ready or not."

A giggle passes her lips, but she doesn't respond otherwise.

The breeze blows softly through the air, making the grass brush her skin every so often. She sighs happily when the sunlight streams in through the clouds. It warms her skin, and she settles even further into the ground, her fingers playing absentmindedly with the loose pieces of grass she finds beside her.

"Where's your favorite place, Sandor?" she asks the question suddenly and turns her head to where he sits on her right, the non-burned side if his face to her. Her eyes meet his quickly. She smiles when she sees his irritated expression.

"Mine used to be this little field by my house," she turns her eyes to the clear sky above her, "It looked like this one, but it was in the North. Always covered in snow. My brothers found it when we were little. I wasn't supposed to know about it, but I followed them once. Saw them slip out the back door when my parents were busy. I'm sure I kept a good distance away so they couldn't see me, but they always said they knew I was there. I think they made it up. Felt dumb, being stalked by their dumb, little sister…" She chews on her lip for a second, "We used to sit out there all day. Usually we sparred, but sometimes we just laid in the snow. Like this... Just talked. It was nice."

Sandor's quiet. Linette turns back to see him looking out in the distance.

"Do you have a place like that?" she asks.

He frowns heavily, "Not with my brother."

"With someone else then?"

Silence settles in. The breeze picks up suddenly, blowing Sandor's hair out of his face. He shakes his head firmly. A silent answer to her question.

"Well," she says, her voice chipper despite the turn in conversation, "This can be our place."

"I don't need your fuckin' pity," he snarls, suddenly angry, and snaps his head up to glare at her. She doesn't shrink back from him. His moods don't frighten her so much anymore.

"It's not pity. I just want a new place. A new memory. A good one with someone alive."

The anger on his face dims though he frowns still. His dark brows furrow as he looks her over. He suddenly turns away, back to staring out at the field. He makes a snorting sound. "Thought you'd pick the river to be our place."

He's clearly making fun of her, but she's not offended. She shrugs. "Why can't we have both?"

He turns toward her, but she quickly closes her eyes. He's probably going to look at her like she's stupid. She doesn't really want to see it right now. She wants to sit in the peace of their field for another moment. Yes. It's their field. She doesn't care what he thinks.

"Enough of this pussy shit," Sandor barks suddenly and pushes himself up to stand. Linette hears him wipe his hands off on his pants. "Get on up, girl. It's time to beat you again."

She sighs heavily, "Do you really enjoy beating someone with such less skill than you?"

"If I get to kill them, yes."

She pauses. "Now I really don't want to get up…"

"Don't be stupid. You know I won't kill you."

"No, but you might bruise me again."

"When the fuck did I bruise you?"

Her eyes fly open to give him an incredulous look. "Not even ten minutes ago! When you elbowed me in the chest! Remember that?"

He rolls his eyes and his head irritatedly, "That wasn't enough to bruise. Don't be so bloody dramatic."

"Dramat- You think I'm being dramatic?" She jumps to her feet then walks toward him, pulling down the collar of her tunic.

Sandor's eyes widen. Linette knows what she's doing is indecent, but she wants to prove him wrong. Though her breasts are still covered, her sternum is completely exposed as she holds the hem of her shirt down. There's a blotchy, red patch of skin between her breasts. Light blue mixes in with the angry color.

"See," she says, triumphant, "Bruise."

Sandor scowls deeper than she's ever seen him do before. "So fucking what? It's a bruise. Pain makes you better."

"I know." She releases her tunic with a sigh. The fabric rises to cover her again, "I just wanted you to know you were wrong. You're always right. It's annoying as hell."

That softens his frown. His lips quirk up on one side as his eyes gleam with amusement. "You showed me your tits because I'm right too much?"

She gapes at him, her eyes narrowing, "I did not show you my breasts!"

He hums, acting like she hadn't even spoken, "If I keep it up like this, you'll be stripping naked by the next moon..."

Her cheeks burn. A ferocious shade of scarlet covers her face, she's sure.

"Shut up," she growls and snatches her sword out of the grass. The sight makes him cackle like mad.

"Oh, lass! The things you're putting in my head… you'd blush all the way to your fuckin' toes."

She angrily shoves the hilt of her sword into his stomach.

He only laughs harder. "Little thing like you. Nothin' on. Holdin' that there sword… Now that's a fight I'd have any day."

She moves to hit him again, but he side steps her blow. Her feet catch on something and she falls forward onto her hands and knees, her ass facing him. He chortles even louder. She blushes so hard she starts to sweat. She scrambles to her feet and sees him leaning on his knees, laughing hard enough to make his body shake.

"You're an ass, Sandor Clegane!" she snarls, trying to regain her footing and her dignity.

He nods through his laughter. With a large groan and a few more chuckles, he pulls himself to his full height. "Thought I was a gentleman? What happened? I not turn out to be the knight you thought I was?"

Without any warning, Linette scoops a rock up off the ground and chucks it at him with all her might. It hits him directly in the middle of his forehead. His laughter stops immediately. The most dumbfounded, surprised expression takes over his face.

Now, Linette is the one laughing.

"Your face!" She slaps her hands over her mouth in an attempt to stifle her giggles, but they only grow louder. He turns to glare at her and her hands move to settle on her hips.

"What?" she quirks a brow, "You can tease me all you fucking want, but you can't take it?"

His glare heats for a moment, then he grins. He runs his tongue over his teeth slowly, his eyes taking on that animalistic gleam again.

"Keep cursing like that, little bird. You're givin' me even more to dream about than you already have."

The blush returns to her face full force. "Shut the hell up."

He throws his head back and groans deeply, "Fuck! That's music to my ears."

Linette knows he's trying to get a rise out of her, but she can't help but feel embarrassed. Her eyes are wide as she watches him. He makes another vulgar sound before grinning widely at her.

"You want to fight now, or you wanna keep turnin' me on?"

She glares, her jaw clenching so heavily she hears it crack. Instead of answering him, she raises her sword. She holds it tight enough to turn her knuckles white. Sandor lets out a small chuckle.

"Good choice. Any more and I might've had to go relieve myself."

Linette growls lowly, "Shut up and take your fucking sword out."

"Which one?"

"Ugh!"


	10. The Hound

**Chapter 10: The Hound**

Sandor and Linette train for what feels like months. She knows it's actually only a couple of weeks, but the number of bruises on her body says otherwise.

Hues of purple, blue, green, and yellow cover her skin. Her limbs constantly ache. She has to walk stiffly with her shoulders hunched. Sandor, of course, thinks it's hilarious. She supposes she shouldn't be too irritated with him, though. He's only trying to prepare her as best he can. She only wishes it didn't hurt so much…

Though Linette is the one who comes away from their fights with the worst of it, Sandor isn't totally unscathed. She's gotten better in the short time he's been teaching her. Before, she could barely land a hit, but now it's not unusual for Sandor to have a bruise or two as well.

She looks at him now. He's sitting on the bank of the small creek they found yesterday. His bare back faces her, his green tunic drying out on a rock beside him. Her handiwork. She snickers quietly to herself and turns back to the water to finish washing out her hair.

"What're you laughing at, girl?"

Her smile widens at his irritated voice. "Just admiring your tunic."

He growls lowly, "The damn thing's gonna be wet all fucking day."

"I'm sure you'll live."

She giggles when he starts cursing.

"You better hurry the fuck up," he warns, "I'm tired of waiting on you."

"I'm almost done."

"That's what you cunts always say..."

"Hey!" She spins around and raises her hand over the water threateningly. "Stop being so rude! I'll splash you again if I have to."

"If you do, I'm turning around. Wouldn't mind a peek at your tits again…"

"Don't you dare."

He chuckles deeply as she spins around, her arms wrapped over her bare chest. Though she's pretty sure he won't actually look at her, the threat is enough to make her hurry. She scrubs furiously at the dirt and grime on her skin, double checking that all the leaves are out of her hair, before she wades toward the shore.

Her clothes lay spread out behind Sandor. She tugs them on quickly. When she's fully dressed, her sword once again on her hip, she walks up behind him. Grinning, she gathers all her hair in her hands and twists it directly over his neck. The cold water drips onto his skin and rolls down his back.

"Bloody hell, woman!" He spins around and pushes her away from him. She smiles widely at his glare. "You keep it up, and I'll leave you to bathe alone next time."

She shrugs cheekily, "I could handle it. You've taught me well enough."

He grumbles, not expecting the compliment. Linette flashes him a smile before walking toward Stranger where he stands drinking from the creek.

"So, what's the plan for today?" she asks over her shoulder as she digs in the saddle bag for their food.

"No plan." Sandor groans as he stretches out to lean against the rock. Linette retrieves a wineskin from the bag. The sound of the earthy scented ale sloshing gets Sandor's attention. He gestures for her to toss it to him. She does. He catches it easily and begins to drink. After a long gulp, he sighs in satisfaction.

"New plan," he says, stretching his large arms out on the rock behind him, "Sit here. Drink some ale. Get drunk."

Linette rolls her eyes and sits down facing him. Her knee brushes his thigh as she leans over to drop their bundle of food on his lap.

"We have enough for that?" She pops a grape in her mouth and raises her brow at him. He shrugs before taking another generous sip, his Adam's apple bobbing as he chugs. His arm falls to the ground when he's done.

"We'll see, lass," he grins widely before letting out a loud belch with no attempt to cover his mouth.

Linette twists her face in disgust. Then, wiping the crumbs off her hands, leans toward him, her hand held out. Sandor eyes her curiously. She wiggles her fingers.

"Let me try some."

There's amusement in his eyes as he passes the wineskin to her. It's large and heavy. She has to hold it in two hands. She peers apprehensively into the hole at the top.

"Careful, little bird," Sandor says, his voice rumbling with humor, "Don't drown."

She sticks her tongue out at him before putting the wineskin to her lips. Before she can change her mind, she tilts it back. Warm alcohol fills her mouth. It burns. Her eyes water. Wincing, she swallows quickly then immediately starts coughing as the burn spreads down her throat.

"That's strong!" she says through her coughs, all too eager to hand the wineskin back.

"Aye," Sandor chuckles and takes the ale from her, "I'm a big fucker. It's gotta be strong."

She laughs loudly in agreement. "You sure one is enough? I can go get you the other one?"

A smile pulls on his lips. He shakes his head. "Nah, lass. You stay right here."

He raises the wineskin to her in a salute before drinking again. Linette chuckles in amusement when some of the ale drips from the corner of his mouth and onto the scruff on his chin. He doesn't seem to care, so she doesn't say anything.

She settles into the ground instead, laying down on the shore beside Sandor with her head by his calves. The sun streams down pleasantly through the trees above. She closes her eyes and lets it dry her skin and hair. Sandor continues to drink beside her as she lays there, occasionally reaching up on his lap to take a bit of food.

The day stretches on peacefully. The sound of the water and the trees around them relaxes her. That, and seeing Sandor in such spirits. It's rare for him to go so long without frowning. A contented sigh passes her lips and she begins to hum. It's a familiar melody. Linette's mother used to sing it to her as a child as she's sure every mother did. The tune puts a smile on her face.

Sandor's leg suddenly jostles her. She stops humming and opens her eyes to look at him. He's stopped drinking. His eyes are soft, if not a little glazed over, as he gazes down at her.

"Sing the words, little bird," he says, "Let me hear."

She smiles and shakes her head in amusement. The big man continues to watch her, waiting. She lets her head fall back down and closes her eyes. Then, she sings.

 _"A bear there was, a bear, a bear!_

 _All black and brown, and covered with hair!_

 _Oh, come, they said, oh come to the fair!_

 _The fair? Said he, but I'm a bear!_

 _All black, and brown, and covered with hair!_

 _And down the road from here to there._

 _From here! To there!_

 _Three boys, a goat, and a dancing bear!_

 _They danced and spun, all the way to the fair!_

 _Oh, sweet she-"_

"- was, and pure, and fair," Linette's heart stops. Her mouth snaps shut as the throaty voice picks up the song. "The maid with honey in her hair! Her hair!"

The bushes to Linette's right shake, a crashing sound echoing from the trees. She quickly scrambles up. Sandor is already standing, the food that was on his lap now littering the ground. One hand grips the hilt of his sword. The other grabs Linette's arm and yanks her behind him roughly.

"Aw, don't stop singin', lass! Didn't mean to frighten you."

A small group of men emerge from the trees. There's six of them. Linette's heart races when she sees their familiar armor, red and dull gold. Lions. They're all grinning. A wall of crooked teeth and grime. It's suddenly hard for her to breathe.

"Fuck! You really do got a bear don't ya!" The man who'd spoken before startles at the sight of Sandor who stands protectively in front of Linette. Her eyes flick toward him. His heavy brows are furrowed in a glare, his broad chest bare and every inch of his muscles tense. That paired with his scowling, burned face makes him look absolutely fearsome.

The soldier halts in his step, the others behind him. He scratches lightly at his bald head before throwing his arms out.

"Eh, makes no difference to me," he smiles, "I'm sure you wouldn't mind sharing, mate."

He takes a step forward. Sandor meets him with a large step of his own.

"Go back to wherever the fuck you came from," he growls.

The bald man holds his hands up. "Woah, big man. That ain't no way to greet us. We're friendly."

"Like shit you are." Sandor leans forward slightly, a dark glint in his eye. "Fuck. Off."

"You better watch your mouth!" Another soldiers shouts and stalks up to flank the first man. He's smaller than the other, thinner too. Sandor eyes him, clearly not impressed.

"You better watch yours," he sneers and leans toward the little man, towering over him, "or I'll cut it out of your pretty, cunt mouth."

The two soldiers' hands rush to their swords. Linette's does too. Sandor's blade is halfway out of its sheath before one of the other soldiers calls out, making everyone still.

"Wait! I know you!"

Sandor's jaw tightens. He turns his eyes to the third soldier with a perfect air of apathy. The soldier grins. He's stocky and tall with a head full of dark hair. A proper soldier unlike his friend. He walks slowly toward Sandor, shaking his finger with a look of recognition in his eyes.

"Yeah, I do know ya, don't I!" His face breaks out in awe, "You're the Hound!"

The other men all startle. They look at Sandor, glimpses of fear and admiration in their eyes. The ones closest to him take a small step back. Linette frowns in confusion, no idea what just happened.

"It's the fucking Hound!" a soldier with unruly, greying hair exclaims, grinning widely.

The bald one shakes his head. "Well fuck me. Who knew I'd stumble on you today?"

Sandor looks beyond irritated.

"You wanna suck my dick or something?" he glares at the men in front of him. They all recoil at his abrasive tone.

"Course not," the smaller soldier scoffs before setting his beady eyes on Linette, "We wanted the bitch."

The grey haired soldier pulls the small man back roughly as Sandor growls deep in his throat.

"Ain't fuckin' happening," he spits.

"Now, now, I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement," the bald soldier holds his hands out diplomatically, a sly grin on his lips.

Sandor leans down so the smaller man feels his hot breath on his face. "The only agreement we have is that you fuckers leave before I cut your necks wide open."

The bald man pales.

"Nah, we're not leaving."

Everyone turns toward the man who'd spoken. The dark haired one. He's grinning slyly, his fingers tapping gently against the hilt of his sword.

"See, I heard some stories about you, Hound," he says, walking slowly, "I hear you left your duty at the Battle of the Blackwater. They say you tucked tail and ran. Like a scared pup."

The bald one laughs now, all fear gone.

The dark haired man smirks. "I'm sure the King wouldn't mind seeing you again. Might even pay me a pretty price for bringin' in your head."

"Fuck you," Sandor's lip curls in a vicious sneer, "and fuck the king."

The soldiers tense, their hands curling tighter over their swords.

"Didn't know Joffrey's dog was so stupid!" a blond soldier says harshly, no humor in his voice whatsoever. The others nod in agreement.

Linette frowns. Joffrey? The king? She's even more confused than before.

Sandor's glare heats, his grip curling tighter around the hilt of his sword.

"Yeah, you are stupid," the dark haired soldier nods, "You don't see how this is gonna go, do you Hound? You abandoned your post, abandoned the king, and we found you. The kingsmen. With your bitch no less-"

"Ha! The Hound has a bitch!" the scrawny man cackles madly. Linette grits her teeth as the soldiers' eyes all settle on her. Sandor takes a step to his left, cutting off their sight. She hears the dark haired soldier chuckle.

"Yes, we found you with your bitch alright. Now, we can do one of two things, Hound: Give you to the king, or have a go with your girl and let you on your merry way. We'll have her either way, mind, but it don't have to be anything against you. Not if you cooperate that is…" he pauses, "So, what's it gonna be?"

Linette's breath picks up sharply. She holds even tighter to her sword. All the muscles in Sandor's back tense, rippling with anger.

"I think I'll bleed each of you cunts dry."

There's a single moment of stillness. All eyes are on Sandor, waiting for what he'll do.

The second Sandor's sword comes out, all hell breaks loose. Blades are drawn immediately. Linette sees four soldiers charge him and her heart lurches. She shouldn't be worried though. He takes one down almost instantaneously, his blade carving through the little man's shoulder and down to his ribs. Momentary relief fills her, only to fade back to fear when the other three men attack him again. She's about to run over and help when she hears the dark-haired soldier's voice coming up behind her.

"So, you're the Hound's bitch."

She tears her eyes from Sandor and spins around, her hair flying out around her. The tall soldier stands to her right, his dark eyes crinkled in amusement and his sword hanging lazily by his side as if he has no use for it. She raises hers immediately. He smirks.

"There's some fight in you," he nods, taking a step forward, "Guess there's got to be though if you're hanging around that ugly fuck."

The insult to Sandor brings Linette's blood to a boil. She curls her fingers tightly around the hilt of her sword. The man takes another step toward her.

"Let's make this quick, lass. Just watchin' you's makin' me hard."

She doesn't wait for any more disgusting things to come out of his mouth. Without so much as a warning, she attacks. The soldier isn't prepared for it. He clearly doesn't expect her to come after him so quickly, and even less does he expect the skill with which she wields her blade. He lazily moves to block her blow, which gives her more than enough time and space to punch him soundly in the jaw. He stumbles backward cursing, holding his bleeding nose.

"Fucking bitch!"

He charges at her, swinging his sword mightily. She ducks and rolls out of its path. He comes at her again, but she's too slow this time. The blade slices through her left arm, ripping through skin and muscle from shoulder to elbow. With a pained cry, she kicks her foot out, catching his and sending him tumbling to the ground. She staggers to her feet. Blood flows down her arm, dripping off her fingertips and into the dirt.

The soldier begins to raise his sword to her again and, without thinking twice, she slams the heel of her boot into his groin. He screams loudly and lets go of his sword. The idiot. Her blade sinks into his chest before he can make any other sound. His eyes widen in shock, his hands fumbling at the blade in his heart, before his body stills.

Breathing heavily, Linette spins around, ready to help Sandor, when she's struck in the face so hard she sees black. Her head snaps back and she stumbles. Another fist slams into her stomach and she doubles over, her knees hitting the ground.

"Little cunt," the voice of the bald soldier growls before her sword is knocked out of her hand. He takes a handful of her hair and yanks her head up to meet his gaze. The right side of his face is covered in blood, a whole slice missing from his temple to his jaw.

Linette chuckles through the blood in her mouth. "Sandor got you good."

His scowl deepens and, before she knows it, he backhands her hard across the face. Her body flies to the side. She lands clumsily in the dirt, her face stinging. She catches sight of her sword where it lays not far from her in the grass.

Her fingers just graze the hilt when the bald man's weight suddenly falls on her back. It's painful. She struggles to breathe as his hand grips the back of her neck, forcing her face into the dirt like he's trying to bury her there. His hot breath hits her cheek. She feels his lips on her ear, nibbling at the skin. She struggles even more viciously, but he only chuckles.

"I'm going to ride you like the bitch you are."

She snarls and thrashes beneath him, but he's stronger than her. The hand on her neck tightens painfully. She feels his other hand on her waist, yanking her tunic up to her neck and dipping beneath the band of her trousers. Angry tears fill her eyes when his disgusting fingers glide over her skin.

"I promise I'll fuck better than the Hound," he laughs before howling like a dog at the moon.

His touch dips lower and lower. Linette grits her teeth and stretches her hand out as far as she can. Her fingers curl around the hilt of her sword just as his weight disappears from her, the hand in her trousers with it.

She scrambles to her feet holding her sword in front of her. She's about to run the asshole through, but the sight before her makes her stop. Her heart lurches with relief. She pants heavily but doesn't relax her grip on her sword.

"You alright, little bird?" Sandor asks gruffly, his raging eyes focused only on the bald man who dangles, red-faced, from his hand. Streaks of crimson blood cover Sandor's bare chest and arms, but Linette sees no wounds. The bald soldier begins scratching uselessly at the massive fingers wrapped tightly around his neck, strangling him. He kicks out, his feet dangling at least two feet from the ground.

" _Linette_!" Sandor barks roughly at her silence, his eyes on hers now, "You alright?"

She swallows thickly before nodding, feeling everything other than alright. His eyes run over her quickly. His jaw tightens when he sees her bleeding arm and tousled clothes.

"Which hand was he touching you with?" He turns back to the bald man, tightening his grip even further. The man wheezes.

She falters for only a second. "Th-the left."

In the blink of an eye, the man's left hand is lying in the dirt. He opens his mouth to scream, but the lack of air just has him opening and closing his mouth like a fish, pure agony on his face. Sandor kicks the severed hand away with his boot as if it's nothing more than a stone on a path. He raises his bloody sword to hover between the man's legs.

"Scream, you cunt."

The blade disappears into the man's body, right up the center of his legs and into his chest. Sandor pulls the screaming man closer, relishing his silent cries, before he yanks the sword up and out.

It's suddenly quiet. Too quiet. Linette feels dizzy.

The bald man's body falls to the ground, a vicious cavern of red now carved into his chest. Sandor slams his boot into the dead man's face, his body heaving with the force of each angry breath. Other bodies litter the ground around him, yet none are as mutilated as this one.

Linette lets her sword fall from her hand. It clatters to the ground, and Sandor quickly turns his head to her. His eyes meet hers, full of rage and carefully concealed concern. She allows herself to smile a little, but it disappears when she catches sight of the blood in his hairline.

"You're hurt," she rushes toward him and takes his free hand. She tries to pull him to the water, but he resists, yanking her to stand in front of him instead.

"I'm fine," he says gruffly, letting his sword fall to the dirt, "You're hurt more than me, girl. Let me look."

His hand takes hold of her chin and turns it up to face him. He wipes the blood off her split lip with his thumb, an action so gentle it seems strange coming from the giant of a man covered in other people's blood. She holds his hand tightly in two of hers, wincing, when he begins to poke at the tender skin around her eye and nose, already bruised.

His eyes are a storm as he looks her over. He drops her chin to gingerly take her elbow, raising her arm up to inspect the still bleeding gash.

"Needs to be stitched," he releases her and walks briskly to where Stranger is wildly pulling at his tether. "Go sit. I'll bring the shit to you."

Linette nods dumbly at his back. Her fingers curl protectively over the wound on her arm as she heads toward the water. She winces as she lowers herself to the ground. Her body aches everywhere. She sighs and sinks her arm into the cool water. It slowly turns red. She watches the color spread, drifting downstream in finger-like tendrils.

"Sit up."

She turns toward Sandor's voice where he appears by her side. He offers her the wineskin. She pulls her arm out of the water and takes it. Without hesitating, she puts it to her lips, gulping down as much as she can stomach. There's a weak smile on Sandor's lips when he takes it back, but it disappears as soon as he kneels beside her. A large, hooked needle sits in his hand, a long thread attached to one end.

"I'll be quick," he promises, meeting her eyes firmly. She nods. He takes that as his go-ahead and rips her sleeve off in one, clean tear.

Linette doesn't react as he cleans her wound with the ale, and she doesn't react when the needle pierces her skin. She feels the sharp pulling, but keeps her eyes steady on the water before her. It's a peaceful sight, but she feels only anger. Anger and a dark, hollow feeling that sinks lower and lower in her gut until it seems it'll eat her whole.

"Sandor…" she whispers suddenly, her face to the water. His hands still immediately. She runs her bottom lip through her teeth before taking a big breath in. "I'm tired of this, Sandor."

He's silent for a moment.

"Tired of what?" His voice is rougher and more harsh than she expects. She turns her head to him, tears in her eyes, to see him watching her, his jaw clenched as he holds the needle tightly in a white-knuckled fist.

"I'm tired of them," she waves her hand weakly toward where the bodies lay. The tenseness in Sandor's body eases only slightly. She meets his eyes, hot tears spilling onto her cheeks, "I'm tired of them thinking they can do whatever they want. Trying to do whatever they want… I don't want them to touch me anymore."

Her voice shakes. She lowers her face quickly, not wanting him to see her cry. He's still for a moment before his hands return to sewing the gash on her arm. His touch is even more gentle than before. She bites her lip as she cries silently.

It's only a few seconds before he finishes. He ties the stitches tightly, expertly, then drops the bloody needle carelessly in the dirt.

"Linette..." he says, his gravelly voice so gentle it startles her. Though she wants to, she doesn't look at him.

His hand reaches forward to tuck her hair behind her ear before softly settling on her jaw, his fingers resting on the back of her head. Though his skin is covered in blood and his massive hand wraps almost all the way around her head, she feels safe under his touch. She leans into his palm with a sniffle, her tears quickly drying.

"Look at me, girl."

Sandor guides her face toward his. She goes willingly. Her grey eyes meet his hard brown ones. He leans toward her until his broad shoulders cut off her view of anything other than him.

"No one is gonna touch you again," he growls, his hand tightening its hold on her head, "I'll kill anyone who even tries. You're safe with me."

His eyes are so unbelievably, beautifully sincere. Linette's chin trembles before she throws her arms around his neck, holding him tightly as she presses herself to him. He tenses. She buries her face in his neck anyway. It may be selfish, but she needs the closeness.

"Thank you," she whispers, her breath brushing his weathered skin.

She's about to pull away when his arm slowly wraps around her waist. It's wary at first. He seems hesitant to touch her, but when she tightens her arms on his neck, he gives in and presses her firmly against him. His hand curls over her hip, his fingers splayed over her stomach.

It's not a full hug. Only one of his arms is wrapped around her, the other hanging down by his side, but it's more than enough for her. His massive frame dwarfs hers, his thick arm crushing her to his chest. She breathes him in. Iron, leather, and ash. Warmth spreads in her chest.

She suddenly wants, more than anything, to make this man feel as safe as she does. She knows she could never protect him as he does her, but she wants to give him something...

She pulls out of the embrace a little. His arm loosens just enough to allow her to move but still keep her near. He watches her closely, his face carefully pulled into a blank mask. She smiles softly. Her hand raises to brush away the curtain of hair over his face. He doesn't try to stop her this time, but his eyes close slightly, a wince, as his face is completely exposed to her view.

She takes him in. He's actually quite handsome, this dangerous, broken man. His burned face is hard to look at, not because it disgusts her, but because she knows it's the source of so much pain for him. He tries to hide it. Both his burns and his pain. Himself really. Yet, seeing him now, his whole face under her gaze, she likes what she sees.

Her fingers sweep over his burned skin. Her fingertips just barely touch him, gliding, until her hand rests against his face. She leans in and, without an ounce of hesitation, presses her lips to his cheek. Right over the burns.

He inhales sharply. All his muscles tense. Linette's lips linger on his skin for a second more before she pulls away. She lets her fingers rest against his jaw, cupping his face in both her hands.

"Thank you," she repeats. A whisper of sincerity.

She thinks she feels his hand begin to shake on her hip, but it's gone too quickly for her to know for sure. His arm drops from around her. She keeps hold of him. A smile creeps onto her face the longer she looks at him. He's working hard to keep his face blank, but she sees how his eyes soften. How his lips part slighty in shock and disbelief.

"I'm very glad I met you, Sandor," she says, "and not just because you're protecting me. I like knowing you. You're my friend... Thank you. For everything."

And just like that, his mask slips. She sees him clearer than ever. Pain and uncertainty fill his eyes, but now, flickering somewhere deep, is a small light. It's soft and warm. She's not sure what it is, but it makes her smile.

His hand comes up to completely cover hers where it lays on his cheek. He presses down, making her hold him more firmly.

"You're welcome, little bird."


	11. The Flame

**Chapter 11: The Flame**

The cold in Linette's dreams has never bothered her until now. She's been out of the North for a year, gotten used to the relative warmth of the Riverlands and forgotten the familiar land of ice and snow. Though it's a shock, the cold in her dreams is welcome. It reminds her of home.

The Raven Boy seems to think so too. He likes the cold. He's far from home, his loneliness tells her as much, but he isn't as sad as he usually is. He seems much older now than he ever has before, and Linette is strangely proud of him. His face holds power in it now, not that she thinks he has any true power, but he stands taller, his shoulders straight and his eyes set forward. He has dominion over himself, which Linette thinks is more valuable than any other kind of dominion.

Her dream of him is longer than normal. A slew of emotions, colors, and feelings. It's cold like always. The Raven Boy doesn't mind it though. Linette can feel the soft furs cloaking him, can sense the hardened Northern disposition she herself used to carry when she lived in the frozen lands.

Though the Boy is stronger now, more of a man, she gets the feeling that he's hiding. From what though, she doesn't know. A quiet fear radiates in him, one he knows he can't show lest he disappoint… someone. Linette doesn't know who, but she knows it's important that the Raven Boy doesn't fail.

There's something else though. Other than the fear. It's concealed deep within him. Linette wouldn't have even noticed it if she wasn't so used to feeling what he does.

The feeling is soft, a small glowing light of warmth in the cold fear. Linette recognizes it immediately. It's presence makes her smile, a shock of joy radiating through her followed quickly by confusion. She doesn't understand why the Raven Boy is hiding it. The flame burns in him, but he pushes it as far down as he can.

Linette can't understand why he chooses not to embrace the feeling. She's sure it could make him happy if he let it, and she truly, genuinely wants him to be happy.


	12. Questions

**Chapter 12: Questions**

It's been five days since they were attacked by the kingsmen. Something has shifted between Sandor and Linette, which is both good and bad.

Sandor feels more comfortable around her, that much is obvious. She's always been open with him, but he's never been with her. He hides behind scowls and harsh words, his hand on his sword the moment he's irritated.

Now, it's different. Linette can see it in the way his hand always settles on her hip when they ride, the way he sits just a little closer to her at night when they huddle around the fire. He never lets her go too far. If she's not by his side, she's close enough for him to hear her if she calls. Though she enjoys feeling protected, it's knowing he's there that calms her the most. Him. His intense eyes and his sharp tongue always making her smile even though she knows he's not trying.

There is a downside to these new developments though. Linette supposes it's her own fault really, but she just can't help it. He's always beside her with that brooding look and his vulgar comments. It makes her want to know more about him. He intrigues her. Everything he does brings a new question to her lips, and another frown to his face.

Sandor absolutely hates her questions. He's answered exactly one of them. Apparently his favorite things to do are fucking, drinking, and killing. She shouldn't have found that surprising. Yet, there are three questions that she wants answered more than any of the others.

The first she's asked almost every day: Why do people call you the Hound?

This is his least favorite question. It never fails to put a scowl on his face. His typical response is 'fuck off', but Linette is too persistent to let that stop her. Especially since he doesn't give her a reason why he won't tell her. She'd be fine with a vague response about a dark past, but he won't even give her that. It's infuriating.

The second question is more of a curiosity: Why does he call her little bird?

He likes this question only a little more than the first. It still makes him scowl, but his voice always always loses its bite when he answers. All he ever says is that it 'fits her'. She knows there's more to it than that, but he's yet to give it away.

The last question is much simpler than the rest: Can she get some money?

They finished the last of their food supply two days ago. She's offered to get them more coin, begged even, but Sandor absolutely refuses to let her do it. He thinks she'll get herself killed on account of her arm being slightly useless at the moment. She wonders if he realizes she has two hands…

"Please just let me get us something!" she begs, turning her pleading eyes on the irritated man. "A couple pennies would be enough for a loaf of bread at least!"

"For the last fucking time. _No._ "

She huffs and turns her head away from him. Her stomach growls quietly.

"Pout all you like, lass," he says from behind her on Stranger, "It doesn't mean shit to me."

She grits her teeth, glaring at the land around them. "So, we're just going to starve then?"

His chest vibrates as he growls, "Course not."

"Then how are we going to get food?"

"I don't bloody know!" he snaps, "But I'll figure it out! Just leave it the hell alone!"

She rolls her eyes. She can feel him fuming behind her.

"Or…" she whispers defiantly, just loud enough for him to hear, "I could go get us some money."

Stranger is pulled violently to a stop. Linette flies forward, almost falling off the horse, but Sandor's forearm catches her. She's about to thank him when he starts yelling.

"Why the _fuck_ do you want to get yourself killed so badly? You think you can pickpocket like this, huh?" He snatches her arm and shakes it. She winces at the blinding pain that shoots through her wound. She tries to pull loose from his grip, but his fingers tighten.

"Your arm's fucked, girl. You so much as _try_ to get anything from anyone, you're gonna get _caught_. You're gonna get raped and killed. You'll die with cum on your face, and I won't be around to kill the cunt who put it there. Stop making it so bloody difficult to keep my word!"

He angrily tosses her arm away from him. She whimpers, in too much pain to respond, and cradles her arm to her chest. Sandor clicks his boots into Stranger's side. They're moving again. Something warm spreads on Linette's forearm. She looks down to see blood slowly soaking through her cloak. Sandor's torn the stitches. She doesn't say anything though. She pulls her cloak closer to cover the growing red stain.

Even if she thinks Sandor is being ridiculous, she doesn't want to argue with him right now. He's been moody ever since the men attacked them at the creek. She knows if she starts talking now it'll only start a screaming match. One she doesn't have the energy for.

They ride for a while through fields and trees, and Linette finds herself growing tired. Quickly. It gets hard to hold her head up. She lets it roll to the side until it rests against Sandor's chest.

"Think I want you on me right now?" he growls angrily, his chest vibrating beneath her ear. He reminds her of an angry bear. No, not a bear. Something else...

She frowns. "Why did they call you the Hound?"

Another growl. "Thought I told you to stop asking that."

She sighs. Her eyes droop closed. "You told me to stop asking _everything…_ "

"Then you should take the hint and shut the fuck up."

"If you're not going to let me help you get food, then I want to talk at least."

"Well, _I_ don't."

"Fine," she sighs in disappointment, "I'll just sit here and be useless."

He snorts, "Do you ever do anything else?"

She frowns heavily, feeling hurt. "You don't have to be so rude..."

"No? Well shit! Thank you for telling me. I'll perk right the fuck up. Sing you a song. Maybe tell you how bloody wonderful you are at everything."

Linette bites her tongue as tears fill her eyes.

"Just shut your cunt mouth, girl. I'm tired of listening to you."

She doesn't speak. She knows she'll cry if she does. She pushes off his chest despite the immediate head rush that follows. Biting harshly on the inside of her cheek and clutching her arm to her chest, she sits stiffly in front of him. She doesn't touch him any more than she has to and neither does he touch her.

The blue sky slowly fills with dark clouds. There's a stillness in the land that makes Linette nervous. Thunder rumbles somewhere far off and she flinches. She's been sitting so stiffly for so long that the movement immediately makes her dizzy. She fists her fingers tightly in Stranger's mane in an attempt to steady herself, but her body sways anyway.

Sandor's hand splays out over her lower back, steadying her as she clenches her eyes closed tightly.

"Storm's coming," he mutters, "Best find somewhere dry. Might have to hole up there for awhile."

She tries to nod, but instantly feels queasy. Just then, the sky opens. Large drops of rain pour from the clouds.

"Hold on tight, girl. Don't let go."

Sandor pushes her to his chest and she wraps her arms around him tightly, forgetting for the moment all the reasons she was upset with him. He takes the reins in both hands and kicks Stranger to gallop. The rain and wind beat wildly on her face as they fly over the ground. She can't imagine how Sandor feels, facing the storm head on like he is…

Her arms tighten around him. She uses what little strength she has to hold her body close to his.

"You don't have to hold me that hard, lass!" he yells suddenly over the roar of the wind, "I won't let you fall off!"

She shakes her head, her teeth chattering, and yells back, "I don't want you to be cold!"

He doesn't respond. She continues to hold onto him.

After what feels like hours, Sandor pulls Stranger to a trot. The roaring rain and wind dull to a hush as they slip into a shallow cave dug out amidst the roots of a large group of trees. Though the storm rages outside, it's dry underneath the earthen roof. A chill suddenly sets into Linette's damp skin. She starts shivering.

"Come on, girl. Let's get you dry." Sandor pulls her into his arms and without waiting for her response, jumps off Stranger's back. The stallion huffs, shaking his mane dry, before moving to lay at the mouth of the cave.

"I'll make a fire. You get the blanket," Sandor sets her on her feet and begins to walk away. Darkness clouds her vision almost immediately. Her legs feel weak. She begins to sway. Her hands reach out blindly, trying to find something to keep her from falling.

"The fuck you doing?!" Sandor's arms catch her just as she tilts dangerously to the ground. Her hands clutch at his armor tightly. She feels the back of his hand on her forehead before he takes hold of her wrist. He turns her arm, making her wince at the pain on her wound.

"Fuck..." he takes her in his arms again. She doesn't have the strength to hold onto him this time. She curls into him instead, savoring his warmth.

"Why didn't you fuckin' say anything?!" he curses as he stomps across the cave, "Startin' to think you really do want to die… just bleedin' out the whole damn time… Can't even sew it properly now… and a bloody fever…"

Linette shivers violently instead of answering. He continues to mutter obscenities as he lowers her to the ground. She whimpers when his heat leaves her.

Sandor's boots are loud on the dirt, moving quickly through the cave. She's not sure how long she lays there, curled in on herself, but soon, a light sparks behind her eyes. She opens them to see a small fire burning only a few feet from her. The blanket from the stables falls to cover her body.

"You'll be fine, girl." Sandor appears in her vision. He strokes the fire with a long stick, making it burn brighter and hotter. Sweat dots her skin though she still shivers. She watches when he crosses the cave to rummage in the saddle bag that holds everything they own. He doesn't look at her, clearly still mad.

"S-Sandor…" He turns to her immediately. She swallows thickly before continuing, "I'm s-sorry I a-a-asked you so many q-questions earlier."

He frowns heavily and turns back to the bag. "Don't fuckin' apologize."

"B-but you told me to s-stop, and I d-didn't…"

She snaps her mouth closed when he snarls and slams the bag on the ground angrily.

" _I'm_ the fucker who grabbed you and tore your damn stitches! Don't apologize to me for _nothin_ g!"

Her eyes widen at his loud voice. He sees her startled expression and runs a hand irritatedly over the scruff on his face. Calming himself. A heavy sigh passes his lips.

"As soon as you're better, you can go to town. Steal us some money. I'm tired of eating this shit food anyway."

She smiles, understanding his words for what they are. An apology.

With another sigh, he snatches the bag up off the ground and walks toward her.

"You better not have done this to fuck with me," he growls, dropping to sit beside her and wrapping a strip of cloth tightly around her wound, "That would be bloody stupid. Bleedin' out, gettin' sick just to get your way… just to make me answer your damn questions."

She giggles and pulls the blanket tighter around her when he's done wrapping her arm. "Wish I t-thought of it s-s-sooner…"

Sandor's lips turn up briefly. He thrusts the wineskin into her hands.

"Drink," he orders, guiding her fingers to wrap securely around the skin when she struggles to hold it, "You need to get your strength up. Make up for all the blood you lost."

Linette nods then drinks heavily from the wineskin. Her throat burns and her eyes water, but she doesn't stop until Sandor shoves her hands down.

"You tryin' to get fucked?" he barks, looking at her with wide eyes.

She winces and shakes her head, "N-No. You t-told me to d-drink, so I d-did…"

He laughs genuinely. It's a rare sound. Rough and full from deep in his throat. "Aye, I did say that, lass, but you should go easy. I don't need you gettin' drunk. Can barely handle you sober."

Linette giggles easily at that. Sandor takes the wineskin from her, drinking his own fill now, and she settles back on the ground. Her insides are warm from the ale, but she can't seem to stop shivering.

She lays there for a while, listening to the fire burn and the rain pour. It's a soothing sound. Usually she'd be asleep in minutes, but her skin feels like ice. Her body shakes so violently her muscles ache.

"Fuck." Sandor's curse breaks through the silence. Her eyes snap open at the clamor of him moving around. She sees his armor fall to the floor piece by piece.

"W-what are you doing?" she asks, eyes wide when he strips down to his trousers and undershirt.

"You're shakin' like a leaf, girl," he says gruffly as he pushes his sleeves up over his elbows, "The fire ain't helping. Need to warm you somehow."

Heat floods her cheeks when she realizes what he means. "B-but I d-d-don't-"

"I know I said no one would touch you long as I was around, but I sure as hell ain't lettin' you freeze to death." His eyes meet hers before moving away quickly. He sighs, rubbing at his chin again, "Trust me, lass. I'd find someone else if I could. Sorry it's gotta be me."

She's lost for words. A frown takes over her face. She wants to correct him, but before she gets the chance, he's kneeling beside her, pulling the blanket up.

"Turn around," he orders.

Then, he's laying right next to her, the blanket over them both.

Heat floods her skin for more than one reason.

She slowly turns to face him. He doesn't touch her. He lays on his back, his left arm under his head and the other resting on the pommel of his sword that sits in the dirt on his other side. She doesn't want to make him uncomfortable, but the warmth of his body is like a magnet. She sinks into him. Tremors shake her to her bone, and she pushes herself flush against him, burying her face in his side. Her fingers fist into his tunic as she shivers.

"Fuck, girl..." he mutters, sliding them both closer to the fire. Heat beats down on her back. It feels heavenly. She sighs at the feeling.

"... S-Sandor?"

He hums in response. It vibrates deep in his chest, tickling her face. She turns her head up to see him. His features seem softer under the glow of the fire. He doesn't look menacing at all. She smiles and presses her legs against his.

"When I s-said I di-didn't want them to t-t-touch me anymore, I didn't m-mean y-you."

His chest stills. His breath catches, and his eyes burn, staring intensely into hers. Her lips pull up despite her chattering teeth. She turns to curl into his side again.

He doesn't move. His body is frozen despite how much heat it's putting off. He doesn't even breathe. Linette is sure she's made him uncomfortable. She probably shouldn't have said anything, especially not while they were laying so close. Maybe she should move back…

She begins to push away when the arm Sandor has underneath his head moves to curl around her back. His hand settles gently on her hip, and she's pulled even closer to his side than she was before. She smiles, sinking into the warmth of him. His scent surrounds her, and a small sigh passes her lips. She moves to rest her hand on his chest, her fingers curling into his tunic. His body rises up slowly as he finally takes a long breath in.

They lay there until the fire dwindles. Linette's body is still racked by tremors, but the freeze on her skin has lessened. Sandor's hold on her ensures it. She hears Stranger's hooves pad softly on the dirt, the sound of the rain outside, and the steady rhythm of Sandor's breathing underneath her. She can't think of anything more peaceful.

Her eyes just begin to droop, her heart rate calming, when Sandor's arm suddenly tightens around her. It's a small movement, his muscles tensing just slightly, but it's enough to make her open her eyes.

"Is something w-wrong?" she asks, lifting her head to face him.

There's a pinch between his brows. He stares directly at the earth above them, his eyes fixed in a hard stare. He pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, chews it aggressively for a moment, then lets it out with a sigh. His hand curls tighter over Linette's hip.

"I've always been a Hound," he rasps, his voice quiet and his eyes steady.

She freezes. Her breath catches as she realizes what he's about to tell her. She waits, listening. He starts speaking slowly, the story pouring from his lips like he wants to keep it close, barely a whisper above the sound of the rain.

"Only thing I ever liked was fighting," he murmurs, "Fucking good at it, too. No one even tries to stop me, or I cut them down. Doesn't matter how. Straight through the heart. Cut their necks open. Easy as breathing, killing. It's the sweetest thing there is. Especially if the cunts deserve it, which most of them do."

He pauses. His words are cruel, but his arm is gentle around her, still holding her close. She isn't afraid.

"Joined the Lannisters when my father died," he continues, "Did whatever those fucking bastards told me to. There was always blood to spill and money to pay me for doin' it. Didn't mind that one bit… They made me Prince Joffrey's guard. His sworn shield… The kid's a massive cunt. And that means a lot comin' from me. I'm one fuckin' son of a bitch, but you wouldn't believe the things he did, little bird…"

His fingers are tight on her hip. It's almost painful, but she doesn't say anything.

"King's Landing is full of liars and snakes. Bunch of bastards calling themselves knights and kings. I wanted to leave that fuckin' place long before the Battle of the Blackwater, but when that river caught fire, I finally had a reason. Maybe not a good one, but I took it. I wasn't stayin' around that shithole another second."

He's quiet now, his body tense and his eyes hard. The silence stretches on for awhile. Linette wants to say something to relax him, but she's not sure what it would be. She's not even sure if he's said all he wanted to. She stays still. She barely breathes, waiting for him to finish.

Eventually his dark eyes move to meet hers. They're hard. He works his jaw for a moment, his arm tightening around her, before it loosens and falls to the dirt. Cold breezes over her skin at the loss of his touch. He turns back to look at the cave ceiling.

"So, that's why I'm the Hound," he snarls, "because I'm mean as fuck, ugly as fuck, and I follow orders. Kill whoever they point me at. The best godsdamn guard dog in Westeros."

He's placed his mask on again. His face is blank except for his downturned lips and the familiar hateful blaze in his eyes. The sight makes Linette frown. Sorrow fills her. She shivers, suddenly missing his warmth in more than one way.

"W-why'd you m-move your arm?" she asks quietly.

His frown wavers, his confused eyes flicking toward hers, before he looks away harshly. The scowl returns full force.

"Didn't think you wanted The _Hound_ touchin' ya," he snarls in his most menacing voice, "Taintin' your fuckin' skin or whatever it is you cunts think."

Linette frowns.

"You w-won't t-taint me," she says slowly, her gaze fixed on the side of his face. His eyes harden but she feels his breath catch. "I d-don't know about the H-Hound, but I d-do know you... and I-I'd like you to p-put your arm back. P-please, Sandor?"

He clenches his jaw. "Sit closer to the fuckin' fire if you're that cold."

"No," she pushes herself up until her head is resting on his shoulder. Her hand splays out over his heart. It beats quickly under her fingers. "I w-want you. N-ot the f-fire."

His body slumps, all tension gone in a second. She doesn't move. Her hand raises up and down in time with his quickened breaths.

"I'll m-move if you w-want me to," she offers quietly, her lips brushing his neck as she turns to look at him, "b-but _I_ d-don't want to."

He takes a shaky breath in, his lips parted slightly. His eyes fall closed. Then, slowly, his arm covers her. She smiles at him though he can't see and lays her head in the crook of his neck. The moment she nestles into his warmth, his arm tightens fiercely around her. His fingers grip her hip like he's afraid he'll sink through the floor if he doesn't hold on to something.

As much as she wants to, she doesn't speak. She simply holds onto him, cherishing the way he holds onto her. The warmth of his touch is better than any fire.

It's not long before she falls into a deep, peaceful sleep, the Hound's gentle touch around her, his heartbeat under her ear, and his scent filling her every breath.


	13. In Trouble

**Chapter 13: In Trouble**

"Little bird…"

Linette frowns at the voice. Sleep still hangs heavy in her head, and she turns to nestle deeper into the warmth around her. It feels marvelous.

"Linette," there's a deep rumbling sound beneath her ear, "Get your ass up."

She twists her body to get more comfortable. Her leg curls further into the warmth underneath her, her fingers tightening their grip on whatever is in her hand.

"Why?" she whines.

"I got to piss, that's why."

"Then go."

"Okay," Sandor chuckles, "I'll just piss right on your pretty little legs. How about that?"

Her frown deepens.

"Why would you-" She opens her eyes, blinking at the bright morning light, when her words die on her lips.

Sandor's wolfish grin is the first thing she sees. His eyes are gleaming with humor, his whole face amused. She's momentarily shocked that his hair isn't covering his burn like usual, but she realizes where she is too quickly to think on it.

She's literally on top of the man. Laying face down on his impossibly broad chest. Only one of her legs hangs off him, the other tangled between his and the blanket that's strewn over them both. His hand is still settled on her hip, but more to keep her from falling off than anything else. One of her hands rests on his bicep. The other is stretched up, her fingers tangled in his hair. Now she knows why she could see his face…

She might die from embarrassment.

"I'm sorry!" she stammers and tries to push off his chest, but his massive arms circle over her, holding her down.

"What're you sorry for, lass?" he grins like the god of death. She pushes at him, but it's useless. He leans his face closer, "I like you in this position. Nice way to wake up."

He's trying to embarrass her. She knows that, but it's still working. Her blush deepens. She shoves at his muscles once more, but it's like trying to move a boulder. With a groan of frustration, she goes limp and hides her red face in his tunic. He chuckles but doesn't move.

"I thought you had to piss?" Her voice is muffled, but she feels him shrug.

"Can wait. I piss every day."

She giggles a little before sighing heavily into his chest. "If you're not going to let me up, can I at least go back to sleep?"

"No."

"Fine, then," she pulls her head up to meet his eyes, a smirk on her lips to match the one on his, "If you don't let me up, I'm going to make you very uncomfortable."

"I don't know, lass, I'm pretty fucking comfortable. Your tits are pressing on me just- _Fuck_!"

His body stiffens as she shoves her knee between his legs, pressing down just enough to hurt. She smirks.

"Want to repeat that?"

He glares at her, his arms tightening to crush her to him.

"You want uncomfortable?" he asks, sitting up, "I'll give you bloody uncomfortable."

She digs her fingers in his tunic as he stands up. His smirk widens the more she fights against him. Uselessly, of course. He's far too big to fight against. Her feet dangle a good two feet off the ground as he walks steadily toward the mouth of the cave. Her hair falls in her face but can't move it, her arms are pinned to her sides.

"Sandor!" she laughs, finding more humor in this than anything else, "Where are we going?"

He grunts, spinning her around so her back is to his chest. His arms wrap around her securely.

"Told you already," he says by her ear, "I have to piss."

Her eyes widen.

"No, no!" she cries, squirming in his hold, "Put me down!"

"You did this to yourself, lass!"

She thrashes in his grip, but she might as well be poking him. It does absolutely nothing. He doesn't even break stride.

It's not long before they're outside. The harsh light makes Linette wince at first, but her eyes quickly adjust. Sandor stomps through the tall grass to the edge of the treeline across the hill. He spins Linette again. She squeals as her head hurtles to the ground. Sandor catches her around the waist and holds her tightly under his arm. She sighs in relief to not have hit the ground, but her eyes grow wide when Sandor's other hand reaches toward his…

"No!" she kicks out, trying to get away, "Let me down! Please, Sandor!"

His hand is in his trousers now. She slams her eyes closed tightly, still trying to escape. Sandor's chest rumbles as he laughs, then, suddenly, he drops her. She lands on her good arm, something the knows Sandor planned, and throws the other arm over her eyes, hurrying to stand.

"Go on, little bird," Sandor says, still chuckling, "You're gonna catch fire if you blush anymore."

She hears the trickling sound of water on the leaves. _Not_ water. Her fingers spread slightly so she can peek through them just enough to see Sandor's boots. He's standing with his feet spread apart, his back to her. As quick as possible, she shoves him as hard as she can. He stumbles forward, curses flying from his lips as he tries not to fall face down in his own piss. Linette giggles madly before turning and sprinting away. She doesn't even wait to see if he catches himself or not.

He's still cursing loudly when she gets to the cave. Stranger gives her a startled look as she continues to laugh.

"Don't worry, boy," she says through her giggles, "He'll be fine. He just might have to bathe sooner than he'd like."

Stranger doesn't seem pacified, which Linette figures is exactly how his master would react too. She chuckles again. The warhorse is strangely like his owner. Both are intimidating and rough, striking out at pretty much anyone, but they're quite gentle when they want to be. Stranger eats out of her hand now. Sandor called him a filthy traitor, but Linette hadn't stopped smiling all day.

She walks up to Stranger now, running her hand along his neck to soothe him. He lets out a soft huff but otherwise doesn't react. She quickly pulls out the wineskin and a strip of cloth that lies crumpled at the bottom of the leather bag.

"This is going to hurt…" she winces just thinking about it and sits at the mouth of the cave.

Carefully, she unravels the bandage Sandor wrapped around her arm last night. The red has almost soaked all the way through. She winces as the congealed blood pulls away with the cloth.

The gash is still open. Sandor's sewing job had worked for the most part, up until he'd torn the stitches that is. Most of the wound is almost closed, the skin sealed back together, except for the part near her elbow where he grabbed her. It's still open, oozing red.

Linette quickly wipes the blood away with the dirty cloth. She then pours a generous amount of wine over the wound. Sandor might be irritated at how much wine she's wasting, but she doesn't care. It needs to be cleaned. Once all the blood is gone and her arm is stinging, she closes the wineskin, turning her attention to trying to wrap her arm up again. It's difficult with one hand. She frowns as she tries, and fails, over and over again.

"Give me that fucking thing."

She jumps, almost dropping the cloth. She turns to see Sandor stomping toward her, tucking his shirt in as he walks. Her eyes scan him quickly, taking in his wrinkled but dry clothes.

"Didn't fall in your piss then?" she smirks up at him when he snatches the cloth from her hands.

"It's gonna take more than your scrawny ass to knock me down." He drops down in front of her, pulling her arm over his lap, "Knights have tried and failed."

"Knights?" She asks, too curious to stop herself from asking.

"The dicks in white," he explains roughly, "Usually wear armor. Talk about virtue. Bunch of cunts."

She giggles quietly before giving him a questioning look, "Why'd they try to kill you? Were you in a tourney or something?"

He nods slowly and Linette knows that's only part of the truth. She keeps her mouth closed though, watching Sandor's fingers gently wrapping the cloth around her wound.

"Aye," he says, "Quite a few."

"Tell me about it?"

His dark eyes meet hers quickly before looking back down at her arm in his hands.

"Not much to tell," he shrugs, "Usually guarded Joffrey or another one of the Lannister cunts. When I _was_ in the tourney I never jousted or raced horses. None of that pussy shit. It was always the melee. That or straight up fighting when Joffrey wanted me to. Just battling, where steel and strength determine the weakest man." He turns to grin at her, "It was never me."

Linette nods, watching his fingers carefully move around her arm.

"I've never met a lion as kind as you," she says.

His hands still as he frowns. "A lion?"

"A Lannister soldier," she explains quietly, "They have lions on their armor. I remember from when they… got me."

He's quiet. It's a moment before his hands return to wrapping her wound. His movements are so gentle she barely even feels them.

"I never wore that shit," he mumbles.

She tilts her head up to look at him. "Did you wear the Kingsguard armor then?"

"Yes, but I'm not a fucking knight. I spit on knights and their vows."

"Okay…" she bites her lip and frowns, not understanding, "You _were_ in the Kingsguard though weren't you? Since you guarded King Joffrey?"

"Aye," he sighs heavily, tying the wrappings in a knot at her wrist, "I was, but I wasn't a knight. Never took the vows. The Kingsguard is full of liars and killers runnin' around calling themselves knights. Pretending they're virtuous when it really don't mean shit to them. I refused to say vows with those dicks."

"That's very honorable," Linette says, pulling her wrapped arm onto her lap.

Sandor scowls, "Didn't you hear anything I just said, girl? I'm _not_ honorable _."_

"You keep saying that, but your actions say otherwise."

She raises her arm up so he can see. It looks like he's going to argue with her some more, but she doesn't let him and moves to stand instead. She's about to push herself up out of the dirt when Sandor's hand wraps around the elbow on her uninjured arm. He pulls her to her feet. She looks up at him in surprise, but he's already let go and walking away. She smiles. He doesn't realize it, but he just proved her point. She thinks about telling him just that, but decides against it. She follows him instead.

"What do you want to do today?" she asks. He shrugs as he returns the wineskin to the bag on Stranger's saddle.

"Thinkin' about training some more. You need practice."

"Can I with my arm?"

"It's not your sword hand."

"Okay…" Linette frowns, "Are you going to be as tough as you usually are?"

He chuckles at the hesitance in her voice, "No, little bird. I'll be gentle this time."

"Alright then," she beams at him before picking up her sword from where she left it in the dirt. It's a little difficult to put in her scabbard with only one hand, but she manages it. She walks back to Sandor where he's putting his armor back on.

"What kind of armor is that then?" she asks. It looks nothing like the Lannister red and gold, or the knight white. It's simple and coal-black. Sandor looks up from tightening his scabbard strap around his waist and grins.

"It's a Hound's armor."

Her eyes crinkle at the edges like they always do when she smiles wide enough.

"I like it," she says, looking up to match his grin. He holds her gaze, letting the moment linger, unaware of the warmth settling in both of their chests. It's not long before Sandor breaks eye contact.

"Come on, little bird," he says, stepping forward to lift her up. He sets her on the saddle, and she leans forward to tap his breastplate with her finger.

"It's better without the lion," she says, "I like the Hound."

He snorts in disbelief and pulls himself up behind her. "You're one crazy lass. Ain't gonna find anyone to agree with you."

She shrugs as she hooks her arm around him, her fingers sliding under the scabbard strap on his back. "They're crazier than I am then."

He doesn't argue with her. He thinks she's wrong, sure, but that doesn't mean he wants her to be.

"We won't go far," he says instead, kicking Stranger to a trot, "You'll be gettin' your ass kicked soon."

She groans dramatically and falls into his chest. He doesn't even fight his grin this time.

True to his word, they arrive at a small clearing after not even ten minutes of riding. One end of the field edges over a deep ravine, large rocks layering the sides and cliff bottom. Trees surround the field on all other sides. Sandor leads Stranger to a patch of tall grass by the treeline. The horse immediately lowers his head to graze.

"Ready, lass?" he asks, dismounting.

He feels Linette's hand on his shoulder before she jumps off behind him. There's the sound of steel against steel, then she appears before him, a grin on her face and her sword hovering over his gut. He raises a brow. That only makes her grin wider.

"Looks like you're the one who isn't ready this time."

He ignores her teasing and reaches forward to wrap his massive hand over her face. She giggles as he pushes her away from him, his arm length much longer than the length of her sword. His other hand grabs hold of her wrist and spins her around so her blade isn't facing him anymore. She squeals when he gives her a sound kick to the rear, making her stumble forward.

"Try again, little bird," he taunts and draws his own sword. She giggles as she turns back toward him. The wind catches her hair, blowing it around her head, but she makes no move to tame it.

"How'd you get so good at fighting anyway?" she asks.

"Practice," he says simply, "Only way to get good at anything."

She rolls those storm colored eyes. "Obviously, but why'd you learn? Didn't you want to be something else when you were young? I don't know, a… a baker or something?"

He snorts a rough laugh, "Me? A fuckin' baker?"

"I don't know!" she laughs and scratches her neck awkwardly, "Okay, maybe not a baker. But you get my point."

Another laugh passes his lips before he nods, turning to look out over the ravine. His fingers absentmindedly turn his sword in his hand.

"I might've wanted to be somethin' different when I was young," he says, remembering the painted toy knight from years ago, "but after Gregor burned me, I didn't want to do nothin' but fight. Killed my first man when I was twelve. Didn't do much of anythin' else after. Hate kept me goin' and it's kept me goin' still."

"What do you hate so much?"

Sandor turns to her. The wind blows his long hair into his face, but he can still see her. She's watching him calmly, no fear whatsoever on her face. He doesn't hesitate to tell the truth.

"Everything," he says, "My brother mostly. The world is shit too though. Not hard to find somethin' to hate."

She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth and chews on it, lost in thought. Her small fingers tighten into fists as she looks down at the sword in her hand.

"I only hate the lions," she says.

"I was one of 'em…"

Her pink lips pull up softly. "No. You said it yourself, remember? You've always been a Hound."

His hard gaze softens. "Aye. I have, and I'm gonna make you one too, little bird. Can't have you fuckin' up your fights anymore. I'm gettin' sick of saving your ass."

She laughs and rolls her eyes before raising her sword. Her eyes dance happily over the blade as she holds the hilt down by her hip, ready for a fight. Just like he taught her.

"Maybe I'll be the one saving your ass," she grins cheekily.

"We'll see, girl," Sandor gives a low chuckle before twirling his sword once, catching the hilt securely in his hand, "Gotta last more than a minute first."

"I can do at least three."

He snorts, "Not with that fucked up arm, you can't."

" _Three_."

"You makin' this a bet?"

"I'm not talking just to fuckin' talk," she flutters her lashes and twirls her sword in her hand.

Sandor doesn't think he's seen anything so fucking sexy in his life.

"Careful, girl," he growls, "You're gonna get in over your head."

"I can handle it."

He smirks and takes a step closer to her. "Alright. I beat you in under three minutes, then you show me your tits. For real this time."

She looks shocked just like he expected. His grin widens. That'll teach her to start something she can't finish. He's about to tell her to stop being ridiculous when her jaw tightens, a fierce determination in her eyes.

"Okay," she nods, shocking him to a stand still, "and if I go for three minutes, then you have to answer one of my questions."

"Don't play like that, girl," he frowns, "you ain't showing me your tits."

She nods sharply, "I will if you win."

"Don't fuckin' do that," he growls, feeling a surge of anger at her for being so stupid, "You keep yourself to yourself or whoever else you want, but don't go givin' it away on a bet."

A huff of irritation passes her lips, "Fine. What do you want if you win then?"

"I don't have to answer your question."

She seems to like that wager better.

"Okay," she nods, "Deal."

Sandor shakes his head at her and her stupid decisions. There's no way she's lasting three minutes with him with that arm of hers, even if he is going easy on her.

"Three minutes, little bird," he stalks toward her, "I'm counting."

Unlike before, she doesn't hesitate to attack him. Her blows still aren't powerful enough to force him back or make him stumble, but she's learned how to use her size and speed to her advantage. The moment she strikes, she's moving again, attacking him from somewhere else. If Sandor wasn't as practiced as he was, he wouldn't be able to keep her in his sights so easily.

She manages to hold her own against him for two minutes and thirty six seconds when she gets just a little too close trying to parry his blows. It's enough for him to grab her around the neck and toss her in the dirt. He smirks as he holds his sword over her heart.

"Twenty four seconds left," he says, "Not bad."

She groans and tilts her head back. Sandor's sword pushes into her a little with the movement. He quickly pulls it away. She stands up the moment it's gone.

"Again," she demands, not even bothering to brush the dirt off her clothes or hair.

Sandor chuckles deeply, "Slow it down, lass. You ain't got anything to prove."

"I want to go longer."

"Won't go any easier this time," he warns.

"Good."

She comes at him again.

The fight lasts two minutes and twenty nine seconds this time. The next, two minutes and forty three. Then two forty. Two fifty two. Sandor's sure Linette would go all day, but he sees a small crimson stain on the bandages on her arm that makes him stop.

"That's enough," he says, sheathing his sword from where he stands over her. Sweat coats her skin like it does his. She's breathing hard, her chest rising and falling quickly. The air passing her lips flutters the hair around her face.

"One more?" she asks breathily, her lips pulling up and her eyes widening just slightly. Sandor frowns down at her.

"That look ain't doin' shit," he says.

Linette huffs. She twists her face in disappointment. Sandor laughs at her and reaches his hand down to help her up. She takes it easily, but doesn't let go once he's pulled her to her feet.

"I'll get it next time," she says, pulling him gently along with her as she walks toward Stranger, "I can definitely do three when I'm healed." She looks over her shoulder to smile at him, "You'll be in trouble then."

She turns back around, her white-blonde curls flying out around her on the breeze. Sandor looks down at her tiny hand in his as she continues to pull him. Something twists deep in his gut and he has a suspicion that he's already in trouble.


	14. Making Plans

**Chapter 14: Making Plans**

Linette can't remember the last time she had a nightmare. _The_ nightmare, specifically. She used to see the lions every night. It became part of her routine to wake up in sweat, her heart pumping like she'd run through all seven hells. The tears were the worst part though. She could handle the awful, startling way she woke up, but the tears made her feel weak. Like she couldn't move on, since, well, she wasn't moving on was she? Not if she kept having the dream.

Yet, she wasn't having it anymore. Her dreams were of the Raven Boy if she dreamt anything at all. She hadn't felt weak in awhile, and she knew why.

The training was certainly helping. It gave her a sense of accomplishment, a knowledge that if those lions came at her again, she'd be able to slit their throats without an ounce of fear. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't wished for exactly that to happen…

But in reality, Linette knew the training wasn't the real reason.

It was him.

Sandor.

The Hound.

That name still makes Linette laugh. She knows it fits him in some ways, he's rough and mean after all, but she doesn't see that man when she looks at him. She knows he's in there, the Hound, but it isn't _him._ Sandor. Her companion. He helps her and she helps him, and she really doesn't want to think about where she'd be without him. Not just because she'd probably be dead by now, but because she knows she'd be lonely. She'd miss him if he weren't around.

She's not really sure how that happened, _when_ that happened, but she doesn't fight it.

Maybe it's the dreams of the Raven Boy. That small flame of happiness she'd sensed in him had grown in the last few weeks. He wasn't pushing it down so much anymore, and Linette can't bring it upon herself to push hers down either. It feels nice to be happy for once.

"Sandor," she calls out to him from where she lays on the forest floor. They're somewhere close to the Trident now. At least that's what Sandor told her. Everything is a foreign swirl of hills and rivers and fields to her. It's quite pretty though, even in the dark. The trees and grass grow thickly in shades of green that look bright in the light of the moon.

At her voice, Sandor looks up from polishing his sword. He raises his eyebrows for her to continue.

"Do you think you'll ever settle down?" she asks curiously, turning on her side to see him better, "Or do you want to wander the Riverlands forever?"

"Not forever," he smirks and turns back to polishing his sword, "Might go to the Eyrie sometime, or down to Dorne."

Linette giggles, "You don't even like Dorne!"

"Aye. It's hot as fuck. Stepping foot there would dry my cock right up."

"So, not Dorne then," she laughs lightly before getting more comfortable on the ground, "and probably not the Eyrie either. Don't think you'd fancy a stay in the sky cells."

He chuckles but doesn't say anything. Linette's gaze lingers on him a moment before she sighs and turns to lay on her back. There's no reason to push him to answer. She looks up at the sky instead.

It's a clear night. Only one, wispy cloud covers the inky blackness, but it's too small to really make a difference. Linette can still see the stars that peek through it. The silver sequins dance brightly, stretching across the sky as far as she can see, from one edge of the forest to the other. She imagines them extending all the way from the eastern shore of Westeros to the west, and even further beyond that.

"I think I want to go to Essos," she says after a few moments of silence, "Eventually. Maybe see the Free Cities."

"Why?" he responds roughly, like he can't fathom her going there. She shrugs.

"It's as far away as I can get really…" Her voice quiets. "It's too sad here. There's too many memories, but everyone I made them with is gone. I want something new." She looks up at the sky, her fingers twisting a leaf over and over again until it crumbles. "Besides, I don't think the lions would find me in Essos."

"They're not even looking for you."

"No, but I don't like seeing them," she quickly turns her head to him before he can say anything, "You don't count."

That makes him smile. Just a little tug of his lips underneath the dark scruff on his face. He meets her eyes for a second then looks back down. His hands continue to polish his sword where it lays over his thighs.

"What would you do in Essos?" he asks gruffly.

Linette shrugs, "I don't know. Probably what we're doing now..." She can't keep the sad sigh out of her voice.

"Do you hate it that much?" he snarls, angry now.

"What?"

"What we're doin'."

"No," she shakes her head but doesn't look at him, knowing the anger in his voice will be on his face, "I don't hate it. I just don't want to do it forever… the stealing. I'll do what I gotta do to keep us alive, but I never wanted to be a thief. You know?"

He's silent again. It's a moment more before he speaks up. "If you didn't have to steal, what would you do?"

Linette smiles at his question. "You already know the answer to that."

"A smith?" he scoffs, "Think you could?"

"Why not? They're called the Free Cities for a reason, aren't they?"

"Don't think they're that free, little bird."

That puts a frown on her face. She sits up in her bed of leaves and turns to look at him.

"I could do it," she says forcefully, anger blazing in her eyes, "Who would try to stop me anyway?"

"Not me."

Her face softens.

"Good," she smiles, the fire in her eyes dimming to a small flame.

She watches Sandor as his hands move slowly, methodically over his sword. His face is peaceful. He's entirely focused on the process, the anger absent for once. Linette wraps her arms around her legs and rests her cheek on her knees, watching him work.

"Would you come with me?"

The question falls from her lips the moment she thinks it. Her eyes widen in surprise. She hadn't meant to say it, but… she doesn't want to take it back. She wants to know the answer.

Sandor's hands still. He turns his head toward her, a small pinch of hesitance between his brows.

"... come where?" he asks.

Linette swallows thickly.

"To Essos," she whispers, her eyes focused only on him, "I don't know where exactly, but… if I went, would you come with me?"

"Why?"

"Because I want you to."

He frowns, leaning back almost unnoticeably, before his eyes narrow.

" _Why_?" he asks more forcefully. He turns his body fully toward her, his dark eyes intense as he leans on his thighs. She meets his gaze evenly.

"Because you're my…" she frowns slightly, "you're my friend. I want you to come with me."

There's a heavy pause as he stares at her. She bites her lip nervously, her fingers fiddling with a stray thread in her trousers. Maybe she shouldn't have asked the question after all. She might not like his answer…

He suddenly pushes himself back off his thighs and pulls the sword over his lap again.

"How would we get there?" he asks, looking down to finish polishing the blade.

Linette sits up straight, a bright, eager smile stretching her lips.

"A ship!" she declares loudly, her eyes dancing with childish delight, "Can you imagine? Sailing over the sea like a horse does the ground… I'd have to get quite a few more coin purses than normal…"

Sandor chuckles to himself, "Thought you didn't want to steal anymore?"

"Well I've got to if we want to get to Essos," she explains simply before frowning, "How much would passage cost anyway?"

"Gotta be at least 20 Dragons. Each."

Linette's shoulders slump slightly, "That'll take forever."

She bites on her lip again. Essos is only a dream, she knows, but she really wants it to be real. Especially now that she's with Sandor…

The large man looks up at her silence. She sits a few feet in front of him, her arms loosely held around her knees as she looks out in the distance. The smile isn't on her face anymore…

Sandor clears his throat once before turning back to his sword.

"Don't matter how long it takes to get the coin," he says, "I'm not in a hurry.. We'll go when we can."

Somehow, he feels the warmth of her smile on his face. He lets his lips twitch upward.

"I can't wait," she breathes happily and throws her arms out, letting her body fall back onto the leaves.

Sandor chuckles to himself. The girl is… something. Fierce one moment, then soft another. Going with her to Essos would be a pain in the ass, but really, what's keeping him here anyway? Essos wouldn't be too bad. Especially not if Linette smiles like that some more...

It isn't long before he finishes cleaning and polishing his sword. All the blood is gone now, leaving only a gleaming, silver blade. Satisfied with his work, he returns it to its scabbard and tosses the dirty cloths haphazardly into the saddle bag before picking the whole thing up.

Linette hears him walking toward her and turns on her side to face him.

"What would you do in Essos?" she asks.

"Wouldn't be a smith," he throws the bag down by her head and drops down beside her, "Not a fucking baker either."

She giggles, turning those grey eyes up to look at him where he sits above her.

"You could always be a sword for another House," she says, "They'd all want you, I'm sure."

He growls deep in his throat, "Ain't going back to any of those fuckers. I've had enough of lords. Just a bunch of cunts."

"What else would you do then?"

He shrugs before laying down on his back, using the saddle bag as a pillow. He stretches one of his arms out to rest under his head. Linette shifts closer to him until they're laying only a foot or so apart.

It's how they sleep now. Ever since that night when she woke up on his chest. They don't know who started it first and they never talk about it. It just is. Their bodies are close enough to feel the other's heat, but never close enough to touch.

"Don't know what I'd do," Sandor says from beside Linette. His dark eyes look straight up at the night sky, "Gotta be something with fighting. I ain't getting rid of my sword."

Linette shakes her head immediately, "I wouldn't ask you to."

"Fucking better not," he gives her a sharp look before turning back to the sky, "I'd probably be a sell-sword. The Second Sons work out of Essos. Maybe I'd join 'em. Probably be a good fit."

She's quiet for a second, mulling it over, when she suddenly frowns. "Would you fight for anyone?"

He gives her a questioning look.

Her eyes flit up, searching for the right words, before settling on him, "The Second Sons just hire you out, right? So, you don't get to pick who you fight for."

"What're you asking, girl?"

"Would you fight for someone horrible just because they pay you to?"

He shrugs. The armor on his shoulders clank loudly against the dirt. "Horrible people have the money, and where there's money, there's someone willing to take it. Don't matter what they gotta do. If it ain't me doin' it, it'll be someone else. Might as well be me."

She frowns, "You don't mind killing for those kind of people?"

"Doesn't make a difference. Everyone dies. Who cares if I take 'em a little early?" he pauses. Linette watches his jaw work as he thinks.

"Besides," he says after a moment, "if the cunts on the battlefield can't protect themselves, they don't deserve to live. The world is ruled by steel and strength. Ain't no place for the weak."

"I'm weak."

Sandor's eyes fly down to her. Her hands are folded under her cheek, a feeble smile tugging on her pink lips.

"I am," she nods, her eyes widening sincerely, "I've gotten stronger with you training me, but there will always be someone stronger, someone bigger with a better sword. So, I'm weak. Is there no place for me then?"

In another time and place Sandor would have said no without hesitating. If it were anyone else asking he still would have. Yet, he can't bring himself to do it now. Those storm colored eyes are crashing over him, and he can't help but feel like the place for her is exactly where she is right now. Weakness be damned.

He can't tell her that though.

With a twitch of his face and a rough sniff, he tears his eyes away from hers.

"It's different for you," he says to the sky.

"Different how?"

"I'm here. Doesn't matter how weak you are. I'll be your steel."

She laughs lightly. It's a quiet tinkling sound. Just when it seems like it's settling, it swells and keeps going. Sandor looks down at her after a few seconds. Her eyes are crinkled with merriment, her smile growing with each shake of her shoulders. He frowns. He's about to ask her what the fuck is so funny, when her hand reaches out to rest on his arm.

"I can't believe you weren't a knight," she says, her laughter finally dying down. Her eyes still crinkle as she looks up at him. He frowns, more than a little distracted by the heat of her hand.

"I'm not a fucking knight."

"So you keep saying. I don't think it's true though."

He rolls his eyes heavily, "I don't lie, girl."

"You don't? Well that sounds awfully like something a knight wouldn't do either. A _true_ knight," she corrects herself before he can, "Not the ones in King's Landing."

" _True_ knights don't exist," he growls, irritated that he's having to explain this again, "Just stories to help babes sleep at night. That's it."

"I agree."

He looks down at her, surprised. Her lips pull up gently and she shakes her head, "Maybe there aren't any true knights. Not really… but I think you're the closest thing there is."

It isn't really her words that shake him. It's the way she's looking at him. It's a gaze full of such trust, such faith, and he suddenly feels disgusting under her touch. She couldn't be more wrong about him. He rips his arm away with a snarl. The leaves crunch under her hand as it falls.

"I'm _not_ a _knight_ ," he growls, his lip curling and his teeth grinding. It's one of the times where he looks exactly like his namesake. He curls his fingers around the hilt of the sword at his hip.

"How many times do I have to fucking tell you? I'm a _dog_. A butcher. Thousands of men have seen the end of my blade. Women and children too. It doesn't matter because if they can't protect themselves, then they're gonna die anyway, whether it's sickness or weather or _me_. I'd sooner skin someone alive than save them."

He's breathing hard, his hand curled so tightly around the pommel of his sword that it feels like the smooth metal is cutting into him. He holds it tighter as he looks up. If his glare increased at all, it would rip apart the sky, sending stars and galaxies hurtling to the earth. He wouldn't care. All he can think about is why the stupid cunt can't just see things like they are. See _him_ like he is. None of this fanciful, recited bullshit that sounds like she took a page out of the Stark bitch's book. That stupid red haired girl he had tried to protect and failed. He hates hearing her words come out of another's mouth. Out of _her_ mouth. She can't be the same. He won't let her be. He won't fail this time.

He's too busy seething to notice, or care, when Linette sits up. Her fingers drag lightly in the dirt as she leans closer to him. Though he's clearly angry, she's drawn to him. Something about seeing him at night seems fitting to her. He always tries to hide, but the darkness covers him so completely that he almost relaxes into it. He doesn't have to try so hard to hide. Yet, it's just that which Linette loves, because he's not trying, and she can see him. Actually see him.

He hasn't even tried to conceal his face since he's laid down. His hair lays behind his head. She can see every inch of his face. His strong nose, his downturned lips under the scruff, the part of his face that's rough then the part that's soft, just like him. Though the burns are gruesome, they don't mar him as much as she knows he thinks they do. They don't matter to her. He's handsome.

The thought makes her smile.

"You've saved _me_." The words are gentle as they pass her lips.

His angry breaths halt. The furious scowl on his face dims, swirling with unreadable emotions as he looks at her. She leans toward him until she's a breathswidth from his side.

"You have," she says quietly, her eyes on his and her hair spilling down from her shoulders, just barely touching his chest, "You're the Hound, yes, but you're still a knight. To me at least. You can be both."

Her fingers brush against his face, one hand on his burns, the other on the smooth skin of his cheek.

"You can't convince me otherwise, so stop trying."

Sandor's heart stutters. He wants to say something, to tell her how bloody stupid she is, but he can't. His eyes flit between the storm colored ones so close above him. His skin tingles under her touch as if there's lightning in her fingers like there is in her eyes. Her hip and side lean against him, warming him to the core.

Part of him madly wants to grab her, to kiss those sinful lips of hers until they're bloody. To shove her underneath him, cover her small body completely with his and make her see just how much of a Hound he really is. But there's the other part of him that wants her to be right. The part that wants to be the knight she thinks he is.

He listens to that part.

He can't stop himself completely though. He's not that strong. His hand moves to hers where it rests against his cheek. He gently wraps his fingers around her wrist. It feels small and frail in his hand. A surge of protectiveness sweeps through him like a current. Swift and powerful. Before he can stop himself from doing it, his thumb slowly moves over her skin, rubbing softly.

Her eyes crinkle as she smiles and he feels his chest tighten even more.

"You're both," she repeats.

Then, before he knows it, her lips are on his forehead. Her kiss is firm unlike the first time she kissed him only a few moons ago, by the river, where it was just a soft brush of her lips against his cheek. Now, she presses down, lingering. Her fingertips lightly caress the sides of his face as she holds his head to her lips.

Sandor feels the wild, hungry part of him reach out for her again. He immediately pushes it down, but his hand tightens around her wrist. Anchoring him. He's too afraid to move otherwise. He doesn't want to scare her, or worse, hurt her.

It's both an eternity and the blink of an eye before she pulls away. He can't make himself let go of her wrist. She's smiling again.

"Good night, Sandor."

Then, she's turning away.

Sandor feels his fingers tighten over her wrist of their own accord, the urge for her almost too strong, but she's still smiling. It's soft and peaceful and Sandor can't bring himself to stop it, even if it would be with his own lips.

He lets her go.

The night seems strangely still as he watches her. Linette doesn't seem to notice any of the things raging inside him. She lays down daintily like always, her hands curled under her head and her knees bent just slightly as she rests on her side. A small sigh passes her lips, rustling the leaves by her face, and her eyes close. Dark lashes rest over the freckles on her cheeks.

The memory of blood and bruises on those cheeks makes Sandor's blood boil. He shakes it out of his head quickly. He said he'd be her steel and he will be. He refuses to fail again. The only thing that'll be on her face from now on are the damn freckles. He'll kill anyone who makes it any different.

His eyes linger on her for one second more before he turns back to the sky. He's tired after all.

"Good night, little bird," he mumbles.

He shifts once in the dirt and makes sure his hand is around the hilt of his sword before closing his eyes. He falls asleep quickly. He doesn't see Linette open her eyes. He doesn't see how she bites her lip to keep her smile down when he wishes her good night, and he doesn't see how she frowns immediately after, realizing that she's in trouble. Just like he is.


	15. Working Together

**Chapter 15: Working Together**

It's been three weeks since they were attacked in the forest. Other than a tender scar, Linette is completely healed. Though that fact makes her incredibly happy, Sandor is more than a little irritated.

"Can you please stop pouting?" Linette asks, turning her head to look at the giant embodiment of a storm cloud who's sitting close behind her on the horse. He frowns and grumbles quietly.

"I don't like this idea," he says. There's a certain forcefulness in his voice that Linette knows is meant to intimidate her, but she feels nothing other than amusement.

"You don't like most ideas," she rolls her eyes and turns to the road again, "Unless they're yours of course."

"Aye. That's because my ideas work. They aren't careless or an effort to prove something."

Linette scoffs, "I don't want to prove anything."

"No?" he says, heavy sarcasm in his voice, "Why not wait a few more days then? Let your arm heal up. At least 'till it feels like it didn't have a blade through it not even a moon ago."

"No," she shakes her head forcefully.

Sandor snickers quietly, his point made. Linette doesn't let it get to her though. She whips her head around to look up at him. Her eyes narrow as she pokes him hard in the chest.

" _You_ promised I could get us some money as soon as I was healed."

He sobers. The hard look is back in his eye and he looks away from her to glare at the road.

"Exactly," Linette smirks, looking smug, "I'm not letting you go back on your word."

He seethes for a moment. If she didn't know him, she'd think his eyes were narrowed so much to keep out the afternoon sun. Yet, she does know him, and she knows he's angry. Of course he is. He always is. His chest rumbles as he lets out a deep growl from his throat.

"You ain't going by yourself," he orders with a harsh shake of his head.

"What?" Linette laughs in disbelief, "So you're gonna follow me around like a bodyguard? Not sure I'd be able to get much coin that way."

"You'll figure it out."

"You can't possibly be serious."

"As the fucking plague."

"Sandor," Linette groans, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, "There's no way in seven hells that'll work."

"You'll make it work. You've got a couple more hours of riding to think about it. Should be able to figure something out by then."

He gives her a look that leaves no room for argument. Usually she wouldn't let that stop her, but something about his absolute seriousness does just that. She sighs and brings her thumb to her lips, nibbling on it gently as she tries to come up with the solution Sandor expects her to.

It's only an hour before she does. The idea puts a grin on her face. Sandor will be uncomfortable, there's no doubt. That only makes her plan that much sweeter.

Her giddiness is hard to hide. She sits up excitedly in the saddle, her arm loose around Sandor's back as she tries to hide her grin from him. He'll be suspicious if he sees. She doesn't want him asking questions before she has the perfect vantage point to see his face for when she tells him. Right now would be difficult. Looking up at him from so close gives her an odd, but not unpleasant, view of his neck and intense jaw.

So, she looks away from him, grinning out on the open road instead of at him. Although she's trying to conceal her newly hatched plan, she can't hide her happiness. A soft hum escapes her. The notes are carefree as they sail into the air.

She continues to hum to herself when Sandor gently nudges her with his arm. She looks up at him but doesn't stop her song. He meets her eyes briefly before looking away. It's an odd encounter, but Linette knows what he wants right away. A broad smile stretches her lips wide. Her arm tightens around his waist, pulling herself the slightest bit closer, and she starts to sing.

" _And sing high Jeannie high,_

 _Sing low Jeannie low_

 _You can never make a singing bird_

 _Out of a hoodie crow_

 _My father was a gentleman,_

 _and a gentleman was he_

 _But he's wed me to an old man_

 _of three score years and three_

 _Before I'd have an old man_

 _with thirty plows and land_

 _I'd rather have a young man_

 _with only hat in hand_

 _For when we go to bed at night_

 _he turns o'er to the wall_

 _And never lays a hand on me_

 _till morning light dawns_

 _Now some neighbors have advised me_

 _to drown him in a well_

 _Some others have advised me_

 _to grind him in a mill_

 _But I have taken my own advice_

 _and borne him to a plain_

 _And I've tied him to a windmill,_

 _and he'll never come back again."_

"Fuck, girl!" Sandor booms with laughter when she's done, making her erupt into her own fit of giggles, "Where'd you hear that one?"

Linette shrugs, "My brother I think. Darris. He said he got it off some traveler who came in from Highgarden."

Sandor continues to chuckle to himself before speaking. "You got any more?"

Linette grins so wide her cheeks hurt.

Their ride continues like this. Linette singing every song she's ever heard and can remember the melody to. Sandor occasionally comments on a song, especially if it's boisterous or crude, but he mainly listens. Linette can feel him relaxing behind her. She holds on just a little tighter as she sings. Her throat is scratchy by the time they pass through the walls of a town.

There are people everywhere. They pass by in blurs of brown and grey, clearly peasant folk. Linette doesn't mind though. She's peasant folk after all.

"Where are we?" she asks distractedly, peering down at all the people from atop the massive horse.

"Dawros," Sandor replies, "Just a crossroads city. Not much other than merchants and travelers here. No one will pay us any attention."

Linette nods, liking the sound of that.

Sandor quickly finds an inn and its stables. After setting Stranger up in a stall with a fresh stack of hay, Linette pulls Sandor out of the stables by his hand. He frowns and growls under his breath at the gesture, but Linette feels his fingers curl around hers just the slightest. She smiles and pulls him a little closer.

They quickly reach the market square. It's more of a long street. Narrow and cramped with carts and stalls and people. There's the overwhelming scent of cooked meat and mud that's only slightly less distracting than the loud clamor of feet on the ground.

"Okay," Linette falls into step by Sandor's side, placing her hand daintily in the crook of his arm like she's done it a thousand times. He stiffens but doesn't move out of her hold. She plasters herself to his side, whispering up at him as they walk through the crowd.

"We're husband and wife," she explains, watching him for his reaction to her plan, "Newlyweds. We're traveling to The Twins to start our new life, and you're getting me a gift. Just pretend like you're interested in buying whatever it is they're selling. Distract the vendor. I'll chat up the others and hopefully snag their coin."

Sandor frowns, clearly displeased with this plan. It's exactly what she expected.

"Why the fuck are we married?" he demands.

"What else would we be? If we weren't married, you'd look like my bodyguard. I don't look _near_ important enough to have a bodyguard."

She gestures vaguely to her filthy cloak, tattered trousers, and sweat soaked tunic. Sandor's frown only deepens. He opens his mouth to say something, but Linette is already looking away, her sights set on their first victim.

"Over there," she juts her chin in the direction of a finely dressed young man in an awfully bright coat of velvet. He has a pinched face, like he's smelling something rotten. Yet he's smirking, looking over a table of expensive looking jewelry that an elderly woman is proudly showing off.

"Come, husband," Linette grins before pulling Sandor through the throng of people. He doesn't resist even though he feels his face sour at the word 'husband'.

"Excuse me," she slides up to the table, directly beside the velvet coated man, and gives the wrinkled vendor a sweet smile, "This is very exquisite jewelry, miss."

The older woman nods, smiling back easily.

"Thank you," she says. Her voice is low and rough like most women her age, "It is made with a very specific metal melting technique. My family are the only ones who use it in all of the Riverlands."

Linette's eyes brow wide, feigning intrigue. She turns to Sandor and leans into his side. "Did you hear that, love? One of a kind. That is quite wonderful, don't you think?"

It's suddenly too hot for Sandor. He swallows thickly at the feeling of Linette's small body pressed against his, at the sound of 'love' coming off her lips. He feels like he's in danger of both throwing up and erupting, flipping over the jeweler's table and throttling whoever he finds behind him in the crowd.

Linette's small nudge to his side makes him look down at her though. He meets her stormy eyes and immediately agrees.

"Yes," he says gruffly, "It's wonderful."

Linette nods happily and turns back to the vendor. She tilts her head innocently and puts a playful gleam in her eyes.

"You don't think you could entice my husband in buying something for me?" she asks, "It's only been a fortnight since we've been married. I'm trying to get as much out of him as I can before he grows sick of me."

The old woman scoffs kindly, "Get sick of you? He could not. You are much too beautiful for it."

Linette blushes, "You're too kind."

"I am only honest," she turns to Sandor then, gesturing over the table with her hand, "Come, ser. I'm sure we can find something equalling your wife's beauty."

Sandor doesn't move. It takes a gentle shove to his back from Linette to get him to step forward. The old woman immediately begins talking, picking up this necklace and that bracelet. Sandor's hand tightens steadily over the pommel of his sword the longer she talks.

Linette, however, immediately moves to the young man in the velvet coat. He looks irritated at having been set aside by the old vendor woman, but his irritation dims slightly when Linette smiles at him.

"I'm sorry," she says sweetly, "We didn't mean to pull the sales woman from you. I was just eager, you see. My husband is not the kind to give a woman gifts without being prompted."

The weaselly little man grins widely, "That's quite the shame. A woman such as yourself should be showered relentlessly in gifts."

Linette dips her head, a vision of perfect meekness. She glances up at him underneath her lashes. "That is a very kind thing to say, ser."

He steps closer to her. It takes everything in her not to back away immediately, but she stays still, widening her eyes innocently as she looks up at him.

"How did one as lovely as yourself end up bound to a man such as him?" he asks, taking her hand in his to place a kiss on the back of it.

She almost slaps him. Both at his forwardness and at his comment. Her other hand settles on his chest instead. Her fingers spread out gently on the velvet as she looks up at him, making sure all his attention is on her.

"The same way any woman ends up with the man she desires," she purrs, letting her hand trail down his chest. His pupils grow with lust. She takes a step closer. The man's fingers hold her hand tighter, and he swallows hard. Linette has to force her grin down as she slips her hand, unnoticed, around his coin purse, untying it from around his belt.

"If we had met another time, this would have ended very differently," she says, stretching up on her toes to press a light kiss to his cheek. His eyes flutter closed and she takes the moment to slip the coin purse into her cloak.

The second it's hidden away, she steps back, all too eager to get away from him. She slides up to Sandor's side without another glance in the weasel man's direction.

"Come, love," she says, "I'm not feeling well. We can come back tomorrow."

Sandor nods sharply. He doesn't hesitate to walk away from the jewelry table and the old woman who's been talking his ear off for far too long. Linette hooks her arm through his and lets him guide their away through the crowds.

"Did you get it?" he asks.

She nods and grins up at him, "Easy as breathing."

"Good," he growls, "Glad you got something off the little prick. One more word and I would've fucking cut his tongue out."

Linette giggles, "I'm surprised he said those things with you standing right there."

"I'm not. Men are cunts. They see a pretty lass and their brain suddenly forgets everything but their cock."

"Well, it seems to be working in our advantage. Let's go find a few more cocks for brains."

Though Sandor would love to do absolutely anything other than watch men trip over themselves, fawning for Linette's affection, he follows her into the crowd again. He knows how badly she's wanted to help again. Even if it is by thieving.

The sun is just setting by the time Sandor finally has enough. He's almost punched two Lords and gutted some greasy looking merchant with hands that wandered just a little too low for his tastes. He convinces Linette to stop on the grounds that they've stolen enough for the day.

They walk through the mostly empty streets now. The sun is setting, a deep orange in the sky brushed with pinks and periwinkle blues. Linette keeps her arm in his even though she has no reason to. Other than the fact that she likes the position. Sandor doesn't say anything either. He likes it too.

"We got a pretty good haul," she says happily.

"Aye. Should get us through the next month."

Linette grins and grips his arm tightly. He looks down at her, raising his brow in question. She bounces a little on her toes, "We can put some aside. For Essos."

His lips twitch upward. "Aye, little bird. We can."

The smile she gives him is absolutely breathtaking. The hazy evening sunlight shines on her mane of hair, making it look like a white halo behind her head. Sandor doesn't think he's seen anything so beautiful.

She stops suddenly in the road.

"Can I ask a favor of you?" she asks. He sighs a little, his moment broken.

"What?"

"Can we please stay in the inn tonight?" she bites her lip nervously, "I want a bath. A proper one. Just one. We can stay for the night and leave with sunrise."

He frowns, "What happened to saving for Essos?"

"I can make up the coin tomorrow morning. I promise."

Sandor hesitates, "We really shouldn't be staying in inns. It's dangerous. Someone might recognize me."

Her smile fades and her shoulders droop. She looks at the ground, sighing.

"Okay," she says, turning her head up again to give him a weak smile, "I understand."

That fucking smile. It doesn't crinkle her eyes. That immediately pisses him off.

"Fine," he declares grouchily, "One night. No longer. If we die in there, it's your fucking fault."

"Thank you!" She throws herself at him, flinging her arms around his neck and holding herself up. Her feet dangle off the ground. He's momentarily impressed that she's managed the jump, but the feeling is overcome by the tingle of her kiss on his neck.

"Thank you, Sandor," she says before dropping down. He's still for a moment. The skin on his neck is warm where her lips had been. He's intoxicated by it, but he quickly notices her watching him. He clears his throat and turns brusquely to walk down the street.

"Let's get off the fucking road," he says over his shoulder. She laughs and runs to him, linking her arm with his again.

"I'm going to get you the best ale I can find," she declares, pure happiness radiating from her voice.

He chuckles. "You do that, girl. I ain't gonna stop you."

It isn't long before they find themselves in the inn where they left Stranger earlier, except this time, they're actually entering the establishment. It feels odd to step into an inn after months of sleeping in the woods. It's warm. There's a hearth blazing on one side of the long room. Wooden tables are scattered around the floor where men with full plates and tankards sit, laughing and talking jovially. A man in a homely looking tunic and coat stands behind the bar on the far side of the room.

"I'll go get us a room," Linette says before practically skipping over to the man.

Sandor watches her closely. He doesn't like it when she leaves his side. It feels wrong for more than one reason. He's been a guard his whole life. It feels odd _not_ to have someone by his side, someone to protect. Yet, it feels even stranger not to have _her_ by his side. Not to have her close enough to keep safe like he feels he should.

His piercing gaze doesn't leave her as she trades the barkeep a handful of coins for a key. She spins on her heels, grinning like she's won a tourney, and sprints over to him.

"We're getting a bath and a real bed," she beams, taking his hand again, "Come on!"

She pulls him along behind her as she weaves through the maze of tables and runs up the creaky wooden staircase. Well, she runs. He walks. Her strides are much smaller than his. He smirks, watching her excitement.

"This one's it!" she exclaims, wasting no time to unlock the door and fling it open.

The room is nicer than Sandor expects. It's large. A hearth sits to the left, already hosting a small fire. In the middle of the room sits a wide four poster bed covered in thick furs and plush looking feather pillows. Past that, on the right side of the room is a small copper tub. It's filled with water, but no steam rises from it. Cold. That doesn't matter though. Sandor's surprised there's a tub in here at all.

"What kind of spell did you put on that fucker to get this room?" he asks Linette. She giggles and shrugs prettily.

"Told him we were newlyweds running from our disapproving families. He gave us a discount and the nicest room they had. Guess he was feeling generous."

A booming laugh rips out of Sandor, "Girl, your lies just keep getting better. Keep this up and you might get good enough to convince Joffrey not to take my head."

She smiles up at him, "I promise I'll do my best."

With that, she lets go of his hand and goes to lay face down on the bed. The mattress sinks underneath her. She groans into it.

"I'm going to sleep forever in this bed," she says, her voice muffled.

Sandor grins and shakes his head, moving toward a chair by the fire. He begins to take off his armor. No way he's wearing that shit if he doesn't have to. They've got a door that locks now.

There's suddenly a knock at the door. Linette pops her head up but doesn't move. Sandor stands, his hand firmly on his sword, and opens the door. Two, dirty serving boys stand on the other side. They're clearly brothers, with identical blue eyes and sandy hair. One holds an armful of wineskins, the other a metal, ash covered tray the size of Sandor's arm. Both boys' faces blanch upon seeing the giant man.

"P-Pardon us, ser," the larger boy, not more than ten, says and thrusts his armful of wineskins out. "The master said you paid for these."

Sandor takes the wineskins. Four of them. He turns and raises a questioning brow at Linette. She smiles and sits up on the bed.

"Told you I was getting you ale, didn't I?"

He chuckles deeply, "Aye, you did."

"Can we warm the bath, ser?" the smaller boy asks timidly, not looking Sandor in the eye. The large man nods and pops open one of the wineskins. He drinks heavily from it as the boys scuttle across the room.

They quickly set the metal tray under the tub. One boy fills it with coals from the fire while the other spaces them out, making sure they heat the tub evenly.

"What are your names?" Linette asks as they work. The younger one looks at her, blushes, then ducks back under the tub, doing his job just a little quicker. The older boy, however, stands up a little straighter.

"I'm Lurs," he says proudly before nodding his head at his younger brother, "This is Elrin."

Linette smiles pleasantly, "It's very nice to meet you. I'm Linette, and this big brute is Sandor."

She gives the man a smile which he doesn't return. He meets her eye but he's too busy drinking to do anything else.

"Is… is he your husband?" Elrin asks timidly, just his wide, blue eyes visible over the tub. Linette laughs and nods.

"Yes, he is."

Elrin's eyes widen innocently. "I want a wife as pretty as you someday."

Lars' face scrunches up tightly, "I don't. Girls are a waste of time."

"That'll change, lad," Sandor suddenly says, making the boys heads snap toward him. He takes another sip of ale, "You mark my words."

All Lars can do is nod. Elrin disappears behind the tub again. They're clearly afraid. Sandor's face hardens just slightly, while Linette passes her soft smile over all the men in the room.

The boys hurry to finish heating the tub. As soon as it's done, they scurry out of the room like rats on a ship. Linette laughs to herself as she stands and walks toward the tub.

"It always amuses me when people are so afraid of you," she says, dipping her hand in the still cold water.

"They should be," Sandor states gruffly. He throws his last piece of armor on the floor and walks to the bed. The wood creaks as he sits down. Linette shrugs and turns to him.

"Only if they're a threat. I doubt two small boys would be any danger."

"You'd be surprised," Sandor mumbles and drinks from the now half empty wineskin, "Seen boys young as that kill and rape. Ain't no age too young to be a cunt."

It's quiet before he feels the bed sink behind him. He turns to see Linette there on her knees, her hand held out. Sandor quirks a brow but doesn't say anything as he passes her one of the full wineskins. She pops it open with her thumb and presses it to her lips. Unlike the last time, she only winces as it goes down.

"Tell me about it?" she asks, sitting back on her legs.

Sandor eyes her for a moment from his place on the edge of the bed. He considers telling her no. She wouldn't like the stories he has to tell, they're too gruesome for a lady's ears. Yet, he wants to tell her. Maybe it's the buzz of the alcohol or maybe it's her eyes on him, he doesn't know, but he also doesn't care.

He takes another sip of ale before talking. He tells her everything. From the atrocities the soldiers committed during King Robert's Rebellion, to that psychopath Ser Ilyn Payne, his own brother, and even the little cunt, Joffrey. How the King had ordered hundreds of peasants killed just because someone threw a cow pie at him, ordered the death of all his father's illegitimate children, beat and stripped the Lady Sansa in the middle of court.

"She was only a child," he says, a buzz in his head now from the ale. Though the feeling usually soothes him, his face contorts in self hatred. "I stood there in my fucking white cloak and let them beat her."

Linette's heart aches. She reaches out to rest her hand in his arm. "You couldn't have stopped it. They would've killed you."

He doesn't seem to have heard her. The darkness in his eyes shifts, regret now crashing with the loathing. "When I left King's Landing I tried to save her. Offered to take her with me, but she didn't want to. She decided to stay there. Should've thrown her over my shoulder and made her leave."

Linette watches him for a moment. She doesn't know this Lady Sansa, but Sandor seems to have cared for her. The thought sends a pain through her chest, but she ignores it. Her delicate fingers hold tighter to his arm, big and strong beneath the rolled up cuffs of his tunic.

"The Lady made her choice," she says softly. "It wouldn't have been right for you to make it for her. Whatever fate awaits her in King's Landing, you can rest well knowing you tried to save her. _You_ did that, white cloak or not." The darkness in his eyes fades. Linette's lips pull up at the sight. She speaks quietly, "Even though you couldn't save her, I'm glad _you_ were able to get out."

Sandor turns to look down at her. She's lying down on her back beside him, the wineskin held in one hand. It's almost empty now. Her cheeks have a rosy tint to them.

"Aye," Sandor nods, "Me too."

She lets out a long, heavy sigh before shooting into a sitting position. "Enough of sadness. I want to enjoy this night. It's the first room we've had in months."

Sandor's lips twist upward. He turns back to his ale.

"Then enjoy it," he says, "Ain't nobody stopping you."

She giggles and crawls over the bed to stand in front of him. He watches as she stumbles slightly, having to hold onto the bed post to keep from falling. Her other hand falls onto his shoulder. She leans in close, her breath hitting his face. It smells like ale. She grins widely and Sandor has to hold tightly to his wineskin to keep from pulling her to him.

"I'm going to take a bath," she says, her dark-grey eyes dancing with light, "Don't you dare turn around."

Then, she's skipping across the room. Sandor swallows thickly as she disappears from his sight. He drinks greedily from his wineskin and turns his back even further to the tub.

Linette quickly jumps into the water, clothes and all. They need to be cleaned just as much as the rest of her. The warm water feels heavenly on her skin. She sinks into it all the way to her nose. A small giggle escapes her, making the water bubble up around her face.

"Don't fucking drown," Sandor growls.

That only makes her laugh more. She sits up, the water sloshing against the sides.

"I promise I won't," she grins at his broad back. He grunts but doesn't respond otherwise.

Linette spends as much time as she can in the bath. She removes her clothes quickly, scrubbing them clean and setting them on the floor to dry. It takes her longer to clean herself. Grime covers her skin and coats her hair. Just when she thinks she's finally clean, she finds another patch of dirt she somehow overlooked.

"You gonna stay in there all damn night?" Sandor asks after what has to be at least half an hour. He raises up the three empty wineskins he has, "I'm out and bored as fuck sitting here like this."

Linette giggles and stands up. Water drips down her bare skin and into the tub.

"I'm done now, don't worry," she says, wringing out her hair, "I'll go get us some more."

She steps out of the tub and grins at him even though he can't see. He makes a sound she can't really place, but she doesn't ask. She dresses quickly instead. Her clothes are still damp, but she doesn't care.

"I'm going to go get us some dinner," she says, brushing her wet hair with her fingers as she walks to him, "and some more ale."

She grins and snatches the wineskins out of his hands.

He doesn't fight it. He doesn't say anything. She's standing before him, her freckled skin and white hair as clean as he's ever seen it. She looks radiant. Glowing. Her eyes look bright too, like they have a new life in them, and her long hair rests over her shoulder, dampening her tunic. The fabric clings to her, leaving little to the imagination. He sees her curves clearly.

"Go," he says roughly, pushing himself up to stand and walking briskly to the tub, "You said I needed a bath anyway."

There's that tinkling laugh of hers.

"Alright," she says, moving to the door, "I'll be back in about twenty minutes. Let you get that awful stench off you."

He grins, "That awful stench is from keeping your ass on that horse all the damn time."

"Maybe I should get my own."

He doesn't like the sound of that.

"We'll talk about it later, little bird," he says instead, pulling at the string on his tunic, "Now get out before you see my dick."

She laughs heartily then the door clicks closed. Her absence is immediately noticeable. The room feels smaller, colder.

"What the fuck is happening?" Sandor growls and runs an irritated hand over his face. With a shake of his head, he puts it out of his mind. He sinks into the bath. He wouldn't admit it, but the girl was right. A bath is good for him. It soothes his aching muscles that haven't gotten a rest since… well, since he doesn't know when. He tilts his head back on the edge of the tub, enjoying the feeling.

Unbeknownst to him, Linette hears his question from the other side of the door. It sends a jolt of electricity through her. She bites her lip, a smile on her lips as she turns away and hurries downstairs, eager to get back to him.


	16. Hunger

**Chapter 16: Hunger**

Somehow, Linette manages to carry the food upstairs. With two plates balanced on one arm, both piled with roasted chicken and potatoes, and the other arm wrapped around three new wineskins, she slowly walks to their door.

"Sandor," she calls distractedly, trying not to drop anything, and knocks on the door with her foot, "Help me please."

She hears what sounds like a bucket of water splash onto the ground. There's a scuffling sound, then pounding feet on the floor, before the door is ripped open forcefully. Linette's eyes widen at the sheer strength of it. Sandor appears, filling the doorframe. Linette looks up at him and immediately blushes. He's only wearing his trousers, something she's seen before, but he's dripping wet now. Something about that seems intimate. His hair is slicked back, revealing his whole angry face. His eyes skim the hall wildly, his broadsword held tightly in his hand.

"Sorry…" Linette breathes, unable to take her eyes off him, "I didn't mean to frighten you."

He looks at her now. He sees her full arms and growls in irritation. His tense muscles relax with a heavy sigh out his nose. "Fuck, girl. Thought you were bleeding out or something."

She laughs awkwardly, "No. Just dinner."

"I see that," his eyes widen sarcastically before he snatches all three wineskins out of her arms and stomps back into the room. Linette moves the plates to hold one in each hand. She stands outside, shuffling from one foot to another.

"Do you want to get back in the bath?" she asks, sticking her head in. She sees Sandor on the bed, still bare chested, his back resting against the wall behind him.

"No," he says, drinking from the wineskin, "Get your ass in here. I'm hungry."

She listens immediately. Closing the door behind her, she quickly crosses the room and jumps on the bed by his legs. He takes one of the plates from her. She sits cross-legged by his side, resting her plate in her lap.

"Gods," she moans, "this smells so good."

"Aye, better than that shit bread we've been eating."

Linette frowns playfully at him, "Hey. I bought that shit bread."

"And you wonder why I don't let you buy food by yourself anymore."

"I bought this," she throws one of the potatoes at him and laughs when it his him in the middle of his hairy chest. He's not bothered. He picks it up and pops it in his mouth, giving her a wide, sharp toothed grin as he chews.

"Just more for me."

Linette laughs and reaches out toward him, "Give me some of that ale."

He puts one of the wineskins in her hand then taps his against hers. They grin and drink. The fire crackles as they eat happily. Linette feels her body warming, both from the ale and from her general happiness. Sandor looks relaxed. He eats and drinks lounged out like a king, pillows propped up behind him and a thick fur draped over his legs.

"Fuck me, that was good," he says when he's done, letting his metal plate clatter to the ground. Linette nods and sets her plate next to his. She takes another swig from the wineskin and sighs contentedly. This is more alcohol than she's ever had. It's nice. She feels light headed, free.

They swap stories for awhile, both drunk enough to loosen their tongues. Linette shares more about her brothers, about the time she and Toman built a fort out of wood they found in the forest, and how Darris always carried her around on his back when she was little. She thinks about telling him about the Raven Boy, but something stops her.

Sandor's stories aren't as happy. He remembers he and Gregor play sword fighting together when he was very young, but other than that, he remembers only anger. He tells Linette how Gregor caused the deaths of his parents and his beautiful, baby sister, Alora. All Sandor knows of his brother now is brutality.

"Gregor's on his third wife," he says bitterly, nursing his wineskin, "Not gonna be long now till he murders her. Just like the others."

Linette shakes her head sorrowfully, "He's horrid."

"Aye."

A small frown appears between Linette's brow. She turns on her side to face him. She moved to lay beside him some time ago in their conversation. He still sits with his back resting against the wall. They're as close as they can get without actually touching.

"Why aren't you like your brother?" she asks.

He takes a swig of ale before shrugging. "Don't know. Just never wanted to be like him."

"You're not," she says sincerely, slurring slightly. Her eyes burn into the side of his face, "You've never once harmed me out if malice, never looked at me like the other men do. You've always been kind. Protected me."

His dark eyes are on her now. They're warm for once.

"Aye, little bird," he mutters. Her dark-grey eyes and rosy cheeks pull him in, and he finds himself unable to stop talking, "I won't let anything happen to you."

She smiles. It's soft and full of so much care, so much trust. Sandor almost doesn't recognize it. It's been so long since he's last seen a look like that, and even then, it was never given to him. He swallows thickly at the sight of it now.

Linette pushes herself up. She's sitting at his side, eye level with him. His heart picks up speed.

"Sandor," she says quietly, looking him in the eye, "Why did you decide to take me with you?"

He frowns at the question. It's random and he doesn't know how to properly answer it. Any other time and he would've shrugged it off briskly, but the ale and that soft smile of hers makes him talk.

"You needed me," he says honestly after a moment of thought, "I knew you'd die if I left you. Didn't want that."

She nods in understanding. Her teeth tug at her bottom lip absentmindedly. Sandor watches it turn redder and redder.

"Why do you still take me with you?" she suddenly lets her lip go and shakes her head, "You don't need me, not really. I just make things more difficult for you."

"Ain't that the fucking truth," he chortles quietly, taking a swig from his wineskin.

"I know," Linette laughs before sobering, "but really, Sandor. Why do you keep me around?"

He knows the answer to that. He doesn't want to say it though. He steels his gaze and looks at her.

"Why do you stay?" he asks instead of answering.

Her lip is back between her teeth. She pulls at it harder, her fingers fiddling with the cork of the wineskin. There's a moment of silence as she looks up at him under her lashes.

He's a good man, she thinks. She knows he is despite all he says to try and convince her otherwise. From his stories, she knows he's had truly horrible things done to him by pretty much everyone: his own brother, the King, the world even. It's labeled him The Hound after all.

Linette nods to herself. He's a dog alright, but not just because of his ferocity. Because of his loyalty. His unceasing honesty. He's a pup beaten down and abused. Made vicious. Linette's heart aches for him. She wants him to smile, to feel a fraction of what she does for him.

She freezes, her lip clenched tightly in her teeth.

What does she feel for him?

She looks at him harder, trying to see all of him: the man, the Hound. Sandor.

Her Sandor.

Yes, she realizes with a burst of certainty. _Hers._ That sounds may not be true, but she wants it to be. The desire burns hot in her heart and she realizes it's been there for awhile now, a small flickering flame, but now that she's recognized it, it blazes within her.

She sits up carefully. The wineskin falls from her hand onto the bed. She tentatively reaches out to tuck one of his stray hairs away from his face. He freezes.

"I stay because I like the company," she whispers, her eyes on his, wanting him to understand her.

His eyes widen and his breath hitches. He understands. She can see it. Her fingers move to rest against the marred side of his face, running over the uneven skin. Sandor suddenly catches her wrist before she can move any more.

"What are you doing?" he asks, his voice strained.

She hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip for a moment, then leans closer to him. His hand tightens around her wrist as her hip leans against him, those freckles on her cheeks close enough to count.

"I'm here because of you," she says, "I stay because of you. I… I thought I wanted safety, but it's really you that I want. Just you."

"Little bird, no." He shakes his head, an order in his voice for her to stop, but she doesn't listen. She moves again, holding his face in both her hands.

"Why do you keep me around?" she asks again almost desperately.

He can't make himself say the words. She won't want to hear them from him anyway. She looks so fucking beautiful right now, saying all the things he thought a woman would never say to him. Her tiny hands rest against his ugly, deformed skin with no hesitation whatsoever. She gives him that smile again. The soft one. The one not meant for someone like him.

"Linette…" he shakes his head again more forcefully, feeling that thrashing hunger for her rising in his chest.

A small frown appears on her face. It isn't from displeasure, but determination. Her storm grey eyes burn brightly. Sandor wonders for a moment what's going on in her head, but everything he knows disappears as she places her lips on his.

The kiss is gentle, just a timid peck, but it sends the fire burning through him. Her lips are soft over his. He's frozen with shock.

She pulls away far too quickly. His body heats as he looks at the beautiful woman in the bed with him. There's fear in her eyes. Her mouth twists as she chews nervously on her lip.

"I want you," she repeats with a strength that surprises her, "I want to know if you want me too…"

He doesn't answer. Not with words at least.

A deep, animalistic growl rips through his throat as he finally gives in to the hunger. One of his arms wraps around her small waist, tugging her onto his lap, while the other hand reaches around to sink into her hair at the base of her neck, pulling her to him. He crashes his lips against hers. This kiss is rough and full of need, but he doesn't know how to do anything different. He doesn't want to do anything different. She tastes just as sinful as she looks. Like ale and freedom.

She's frozen as he kisses her. Fear creeps into Sandor's gut the longer she doesn't move, but just when he's about to pull away, her hands slide from his face to the back of his head, tangling in his hair. She presses herself closer to him, her small body melding to his, moving with his as he kisses her breathless.

She pulls back after a minute or two, but she doesn't try to move away. Sandor wouldn't have let her anyway, not when she's tangled up in his arms the way she is. Her lips are swollen and blood red, her mane of hair even more wild than normal.

 _Because of him,_ he realizes. A shot of possessiveness ripples through him. It only increases when she smiles that eye crinkling smile of hers.

"I'll take that as a yes," she laughs breathily. Her chest rises and falls quickly as she tightens her arms around his neck. She leans forward to kiss the corner of his mouth. It's just a peck, but she lingers, unable to pull away. Another kiss lands fully on his lips this time. It's slow and sweet. A kiss full of her, just like the last one was all him. Sandor holds her even tighter.

When she pulls away, he's the one who's breathless.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks, his voice particularly rough and deep, "You don't need a dog."

She smiles serenely, tucking his hair away from his face again. He winces instinctively. She presses a quick kiss to his burned cheek. "I _do_ need you, but even if I didn't, I'd still want you. Dog or not."

He's weak. Another growl rips through his throat. He yanks her toward him, every intention to ravish her right here, but she tilts her head up at the last second. His lips land on her neck instead. She giggles as he nibbles at her skin, biting gently and some not-so gently.

"You never answered my question," she says, pushing his head away from her. Though he could easily resist, he lets his back fall against the wall. His hands slide down to settle on her supple hips, curling over them almost enough for his fingers to touch behind her back.

"You think I'd remember your question after all that?" he asks, making her giggle.

She smacks his chest lightly and rolls her eyes. "I asked why you keep me around."

"Where you are now answers that pretty well." He grins wolfishly and pulls her hips closer to his so she straddles him. A pretty blush appears on her cheeks.

"I want to hear you say it," she says.

He frowns deeply. He doesn't want to say anything. He's not good with this shit. He'll probably just fuck it up, but he wants to try. For her. She bites her lip as she patiently waits, her fingers unconsciously playing with the dark hair on his chest. He sighs, his hand trailing up her arm.

"You know why I call you little bird?" he asks gruffly.

She immediately shakes her head, making her hair spill out around her. "No. You would never tell me, remember? I used to ask all the time."

"Aye," he chuckles, "It was fucking annoying. You chirping on and on."

Her eyes spark, "Is that why-"

"Some," he nods, "but it meant something else before. In King's Landing. All the Ladies there were like pretty little birds. Pretty little birds reciting all these pretty little things they're taught to say. Chirping courtesies that don't mean shit to people who are even worse than shit."

Linette frowns. Her hand stills on his chest. "So… You think I do that too? Say useless things?"

He chuckles at her hurt expression. "No, little bird. You remind me of a Lady." Her mouth falls open, but he keeps talking, not wanting to stop now that he's started, "Not those fucking twats with ribbons in their hair and powder on their nose. You're a real lady. What a Lady ought to be. Your chirpin' actually means somethin'. Finally a little bird with some backbone to her."

Linette's hand on his chest slips as all her breath leaves her. Her grey eyes are wide with shock, her lips parted slightly. Sandor chuckles. He reaches forward to tangle his fingers in her mess of curls, holding it away from her face as he cups her cheek. His hand is massive beside her, but he's gentle.

"Is that a good enough answer for you?" he asks, knowing damn well that it is. She nods dumbly, and, slowly, that soft, loving smile fills her lips. The sight of it makes him nervous, but he can't look away.

Then, before he can prepare himself, she's thrown herself at him. Her small hands take his face and pull it to hers. She kisses him with a hunger that matches the one he's been feeling for her for weeks now. He tries to hold it back, he knows she's drunk, he knows he's no good for her, but her touch makes him weak. He gives in.

A deep growl so akin to his namesake vaults him forward, and he wraps his arms around her waist. He flips them over in one, swift move. She's underneath him now, laying on her back as she clings to him, kissing him feverishly. Her legs wrap around his waist, holding his hunger against hers. He doesn't know what heaven is like or if it's even real, but he wouldn't be surprised to find out it's exactly like this.

He barely even tries to hold himself above her. His body presses her into the bed, covering her completely and feeling every inch of her curves beneath him. A part of him tells him to stop, that she's only doing this because of the ale, but her lips leave a hot trail down his bare chest and he moans into her moonlight hair, his nails digging into her hip, wanting her closer. Wanting _her_. Gods does he want her.

No, there's no way he can stop himself now.


	17. Burning World

**Chapter 17: Burning World**

Linette dreams of the sun bursting through the Winter. The warm rays erupt from the heavens in shimmering gold and fiery orange, ripping through the snow and the ice and the cold that lies over everything the eye can see. The world melts. The once frozen earth drinks in the dew greedily as the land blossoms.

It doesn't stop with the Spring. The sun burns brighter, filling the sky until no more blue is left. All Linette sees are the blinding, searingly hot white flames that have consumed the earth. Her body is on fire, yet she doesn't burn. It's a heat that sinks into her very bones, every lick of the white flames like a pulse of pleasure emitting from deep within her core. She succumbs to it, letting it take over her body until she is nothing more than the pulse, than the flames.

Linette could live forever here in this burning world, and so could the Raven Boy.

They aren't there together, but she knows more certainly than she's known most things that he's in his own beautiful, burning world. His expanding heart, filled with the flames and filled with love, only expands her own heart all the more.

Linette's pure happiness grows impossibly wider. The Raven Boy has stopped hiding his flame just as she's let hers loose. She thinks of her Hound, her flame, wanting the Raven Boy to see and hoping that he'll share his with her. Flashes of orange come to her mind. It's not much, but she holds onto it.

They live in their own fires together. Unbridled joy and love crashing over each of them. Yet, in the blindingly white flames, over the horizon, is just the smallest pin-prick of darkness, both a warning and a promise that the burning will not last, that something will take it away.

Winter always comes.


	18. Shouldn't Have

**CHAPTER 18: SHOULDN'T HAVE**

Sandor wakes to a bright light in his face. He cracks a disgruntled eye and glares at the window. The curtain is billowing open just enough to let the morning sun stream in, right in his eyes.

"Fuck," he grunts through the pounding in his head. The familiar pulse of a hangover in his temples sets him in a sour mood instantaneously. He grumbles curses at the window, at the sun, at whoever hung the damn curtains. He's about to get up and nail the piece of fabric to the fucking wall when a soft moan sounds from beside him.

He freezes.

" _Fuck_ …" he repeats, his eyes widening as he looks down.

Linette is sleeping beside him, completely naked. He can see every inch of her creamy, freckled skin where she lays curled against his side, sleeping more peacefully than he's ever seen. His breath catches as she moves to lay her head on his chest. Her still red lips smile softly while her silver-blonde curls spill out around her. She nestles into him before settling, still sound asleep.

Sandor tightens his arm around her, a look of awe on his face. He thought it was a fucking dream. He runs his hand down her bare back almost reverently, a little unsure that he _still_ isn't dreaming, but her skin is soft and solid under his fingers. Real.

"Fuck…" That's all he seems to be able to say now. He's can't take his eyes off the beautiful woman in his arms.

Linette is truly the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, let alone laid with. Granted, the only women he's ever laid with had been whores. No woman in her right mind would want him if they weren't being paid to do it. He knows that. That's why he's never paid for a beautiful one. He's not worthy of their affections even if they are fake.

Yet, here Linette is, beautiful with no coin exchanged. The thought sends a fire burning in Sandor's chest, but he immediately extinguishes it. There may not have been payment, but she can't be here because she _wants_ to be. He'd be a fool to believe otherwise. There has to be a reason, something that made her do this…

 _The ale_ , he remembers with a deep frown and a curse.

Of course it was the fucking ale. She was drunk. He was too. That's why this happened. He'd tried to resist, knowing they'd had too much to drink, but any ounce of his resolve faded from existence when she kissed him. Those lips of hers were all over him, her body writhing in his lap, and he was powerless. He may have the strength of a warrior, but he's still a man.

He runs a hand agitatedly over the scruff on his chin. Surely she'll wake up and scream. She'll hate him, thinking he got her drunk just to have sex with her, and even if she doesn't think that, she'll regret having done it. She'll blame it on the liquor. It doesn't really matter what she says, though. She'll end up leaving any way it plays out.

Sandor lets his head fall back, unwillingly tearing his eyes away from her serene face. He needs to figure this out… some way to make her stay…

His movements cause her to stir. He curses himself quietly before looking back down where she lays on his chest.

"Good morning," she mumbles and smiles sleepily. Her toes curl as she stretches, pressing her body closer to him.

He lays there as stiff as possible, just watching her. Never has he stayed with a woman through the night. They never wanted to be there that long. He doesn't know what to do. Keeping his mouth shut seems like the best route. He doesn't want to remind her who she's next to. He wants to keep her there as long as possible.

"Did you sleep well?" She rolls over so she's on top of him, laying her cheek against his chest. Her slim legs tangle with his, and his gut lurches, the hunger he felt last night resurfacing. He can see her whole backside, from her shoulders to her toes. As much as he wants to touch her, he doesn't let himself.

She pops her head up at his silence. Her silver-gold hair is a mane of wild curls, spilling over her shoulders and onto his chest. She looks so unlike anything he's ever seen. No lady in King's Landing would ever look like this, but Sandor doesn't think they hold a candle to Linette, not even in their silk dresses and colorful ribbons.

"Well, _I_ slept like the dead," she sighs musically and rests her chin on his chest, "This bed is marvelous. Think we can take it with us when we leave?"

His breath picks up the longer he looks in those storm cloud eyes of hers. A small laugh passes her lips and she moves her hands to settle under her chin, her fingers sinking into the coarse hairs on his chest.

"Sex make you mute?" she asks, a glint of mischief in her eyes. He almost smiles. A frown pulls on his lips instead.

"Why are you still here?" he asks gruffly, his voice strained. Linette's fingers on his chest still at the roughness in his voice. She's frowning now too.

"I told you last night," she says, biting her lip, "I _want_ you. You're kind, and I lo… I like being with you. You make me happy."

She reaches out to rest her hand on his face, tenderly brushing her thumb over the rough and uneven scars on his cheek. Her eyes meet his and she smiles. It slowly disappears when he doesn't smile back. Her thumb stops moving, and her beautiful face falls into an open look of fear.

"Do… do you not want me here?" she asks slowly.

 _Of course I fuckin' do,_ Sandor thinks immediately. His fingers twitch, desperate to touch her and get rid of the fear in her eyes, but he doesn't. None of this makes sense to him.

"You shouldn't be here," he shakes his head, "You shouldn't want a dog. You deserve better."

Her face smooths a little.

"I think I can decide what I do and don't deserve," she says, her thumb moving over his skin again, "You're what I _want_ though, so it really doesn't matter."

He exhales roughly through his nose. "Of course it fucking matters."

He's angry now. Not with her though, never with her. He's angry with himself. He's a monster, the worst son of a bitch there is. She deserves so much more than _the Hound_. He shouldn't have been so fucking selfish.

She gasps when he sits up quickly, making her fall off him and onto the bed. He doesn't spare her a glance, but swings his legs over the edge of the bed and snatches his clothes off the floor.

"I shouldn't have touched you. Shouldn't have even brought you with me in the first place," he growls quietly, shaking his head as he yanks his tunic on. He pulls his trousers and boots on as well, then runs an irritated hand through his hair as he stands. His back is to her. He can't make himself turn around. He'll just see what he's ruined. He hears a soft sniffle from behind him though. He has to look now.

His heart falls as soon as he sets eyes on her where she stands on the other side of the bed. She's crying. It's only a few tears, but that doesn't matter to Sandor. He wants to fall on his blade for what he's done, but he doesn't know how to undo it. Linette looks… broken. Her hands clutch the bedsheet to her chest, hiding her body from him.

"So, you… you lied last night?" she asks quietly. Her voice shakes, "You don't want me…?"

"Wh- No…" he shakes his head roughly only to falter when her face falls into utter devastation.

Her lip trembles, not realizing that he's answering her first question and not the second. Tears pour freely from her eyes.

"Stop crying," Sandor orders, at a loss as to how to handle this, and runs a manic hand through his hair. "Just fucking listen, will you?"

She clearly tries to stop crying, straightening her shoulders and raising her chin, but all it does is make her tremble more. She gives a watery hiccup before shaking her head. In a flurry, she spins around and furiously picks her clothes up, putting them on clumsily as she tries to keep the sheet around her.

"I don't know why I was so stupid. I should've known…" she mumbles breathily through her tears, "I'll just go get the coin like I said I would."

She puts the last of her clothes on and drops the bedsheet. Her feet barely make a sound as she hurries to cross the room to the door.

"Wait…" Sandor comes to his senses and takes a step toward her, "Little bird. I-"

" _Don't_ call me that!" she hisses and spins around, her wild hair flying out around her. "Don't _ever_ call me that again."

Her eyes hold enough fury to rival anyone Sandor has ever met on the battlefield. He falls silent. They stare at each other, her with the most righteous of anger and him with the hard look that seems to just fall naturally regardless of what he's feeling. She clearly hates him. Just like he thought she would. He's not going to try to stop her. He deserves it after all. So, he keeps the hard look, the mask, firmly in place. Linette's heated gaze falters, her eyes glistening instead. She looks away from him immediately. A sob escapes her before she runs out of the room.

Despite the warm, morning air, Sandor feels cold. His mask falls, twisting to match the self-hatred burning in his chest. His hands curl tightly into fists. Of course he fucked it up. He knew he would, but he hates himself more than he already did. For making her leave. For making her cry. He hadn't meant to. Just like he hadn't meant to make his words sound like they had. Like he'd used her.

He's not surprised though. He's the Hound. Fucking things up is what he does.

His fist is through the door in a matter of seconds. Splinters of wood fly out, hitting his face and embedding into his knuckles. He feels the pain and the blood, but that doesn't stop him from doing it again. And again. The door hangs off its hinges by the time he's done.

He thinks about going to find her, but what's the point? She's clearly better off without him. He doesn't know much, but that's one truth he's absolutely sure of. He'll only hurt her. He's a brute. A fucking monster who shouldn't have even spoken to her in the first place.

He catches sight of the coin purse she stole yesterday. It's on the ground by the fire. Forgotten. He snatches it up and stomps downstairs.

This whole fucking thing started with ale, might as well end with it too.

Four hours later and Sandor feels somewhat like he did last night, except he's in a much fouler mood now. No one sits even remotely near him. His deep scowl and frequent cursing keeps them away. He's glad for it though. It's best he's alone.

The barkeep slides up, trading Sandor's empty tankard for a full one.

"Where's your sweet little wife?" he asks.

Sandor shrugs agitatedly and takes a generous sip of ale.

"Don't know. Don't fucking care," he growls, slamming the tankard down. Some of the liquid sloshes out onto the bar and his hand. He doesn't try to dry it.

The barkeep's eyebrows raise before he shakes his head and busies himself with cleaning up Sandor's mess.

"If I had a girl like yours, I wouldn't ever let 'er out my sight. Wouldn't want to lose her. A blessing from the gods she'd be."

Sandor's jaw tightens. He drinks heavily from his tankard. The barkeep eyes him as he wipes the bar down.

"You two have a squabble or somethin'?" he asks.

Sandor finishes off his tankard before answering. "Fuck off."

"A'ight," the smaller man holds his hands up quickly, "Ain't my place anyway. Just wantin' you to know you're lucky, is all."

Sandor stands up with a growl. The chair he was sitting on clatters to the ground. He ignores it and throws a couple coins on the bar before thundering out of the inn.

Of course he knows he's fucking lucky. Linette wanted _him_. For some unknown, godsdamn reason, she chose him. The Hound. The Lannister dog and butcher of men. His hands have been stained red with blood since he was a boy. The sight of his ugly mug has sent grown men running.

Yet, Linette kissed him there. She held his face in her hands and looked him straight in the eye. She always has. Her eyes never drift to his scar the way other people's do. She sees him, somehow, and she still wants him.

He needs to find her.

People scuttle out of his way as he stomps through the streets. He's sure he looks a fearsome sight in his armor, scowling and smelling like a tavern, but he doesn't care. He knows Linette won't be afraid. She may not want anything to do with him anymore, but she won't be afraid. She never was.

He passes the old woman's jewelry table he and Linette had been at yesterday. The crooked-backed vendor smiles when she sees him. He scowls immediately and starts to walk away, but he stops. He remembers what Linette said yesterday. That she didn't look important enough to have a bodyguard…

Sandor sulks up to the jeweler's table feeling like a flounce. He hates this, but he won't let himself leave. The old woman smiles happily which only makes his scowl deepen.

"Hello again, ser," she says, "You've come without your wife, I see. Decided to surprise her?"

He growls impatiently, "Just give me something she'll like."

"I don't think I'd be the best judge of that, ser. I don't know her like you do. Perhaps you can tell me something about her?"

Sandor shuffles uncomfortably, his jaw working hard.

"I don't fucking know…" he mumbles, holding the hilt of his sword tightly, "... got anything with birds?"

"Birds?" the old woman laughs lightly, sounding surprised. Sandor's scowl darkens.

" _Yes_ ," he snarls, "Birds."

The woman has the good sense to look apologetic. She turns to the other end of her table, picks something up, then turns back to Sandor. He eyes her hand warily.

"Will this do?" she asks, holding it out to him.

He takes the necklace in his hand. The silver chain is delicate and thin, like water on his fingers. At one end lies a pendant. It's small, dangling off the chain. A yellow sapphire sits at the top of the pendant with an arch of silver extending down from it like a branch. On the branch perches a graceful looking bird, it's neck extended to peer at the sapphire as if it were the rising sun.

"Aye," Sandor mumbles, running his thumb over the bird, "It'll do."

He purchases the necklace and pockets it quickly, more eager to find Linette than before. Not only because he wants to apologize, but because he's sobered some. He now has enough sense to be worried about her. It's been hours since he last saw her. Who knows what shit she's gotten herself into. Last time, he found her hiding in a hayloft with that fucking cunt saying he'd rape her bloody. He knows she has a sword now, but that doesn't do much to reassure him.

He storms through the town for hours. He's not sure how long he's been searching exactly, but he's trying not to panic. The thought that she left, just slipped out of town hours ago, has occurred to him more than once but he angrily ignores it each time.

"Where are you, girl?" he growls frustratedly when the sun sets.

It's dark now. There's barely anyone out on the streets anymore. His feet hurt and his scowl has only increased as the hours passed. He's sure he's walked this town at least four times over. He knows every street, every alley, and every stable, but he has no idea where Linette could have gone to.

He decides to go back to the inn. Maybe she went there too, looking for him…

The door bangs loudly when he throws it open. Although the place is busy, the chatter dies to a soft hush as he stalks through the room. Every eye follows his hulking, angry mass, but he doesn't pay attention. His gaze sweeps the room, looking for that headful of blonde curls.

"S-ser!" a little voice is by his side. He doesn't stop walking but looks down. The boy from yesterday is there, the smaller one. Elrin. His little legs work quickly to keep up with Sandor's urgent pace.

"What do you want, boy?" Sandor asks gruffly, more than a little irritated to be interrupted right now.

"I-I need to tell you something!" Elrin says, looking nervous as he weaves in between the crowd behind Sandor.

"Can't you see I'm fucking busy?" the large man snaps. He doesn't slow his pace and continues to head toward the stairs, "Tell me later. Go bother someone else."

"B-but…" the boy stammers. Sandor growls and picks up his pace, eager to get away from the pest behind him.

He stomps up the stairs two at a time. He can hear Elrin behind him, panting as he tries to climb the stairs quickly. Sandor doesn't care though. He marches through the hall to the room they were in last night and throws open the damaged door with no regard to the fact that someone else has probably rented it out already.

A woman squeals loudly from the bed. She falls off the man she's on top of who shoots into a sitting position. Sandor glares at them.

"You seen a white haired girl?" he asks roughly, raising his hand to the middle of his chest, "About this tall. Pretty. Got a sword."

The couple continue to stare at him, bug-eyed.

"Fuck it all," he snarls and stomps out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

His jaw clicks loudly as he grits his teeth. He doesn't know what to do now. He's looked everywhere for her. A horrible, sinking feeling burns in his gut as he finally lets himself think about what's probably happened. She left him. He doesn't blame her though. He hates himself for making her leave, for ruining everything.

He's about to put his fist through the wall when something tugs at his pant leg. He turns his furious gaze down to see Elrin. The little boy shrinks back immediately. He's breathing hard, his blue eyes wide with fear.

"The _fuck_ you want?" Sandor hisses, barely managing to control himself. Elrin swallows harshly.

"The pretty lady…" he stammers, pulling nervously on the hem of his filthy tunic.

Sandor's eyes narrow. He takes an instinctual step toward the boy.

"You seen her?" he asks lowly. The sound is nothing but menacing. Elrin takes a step back and nods.

"Y-yes…"

" _Where_?"

"Out by the farms," he points his chubby little finger in the general direction, "She was in a cart. They stopped by my pa's to buy some potatoes."

So she did leave. Sandor's heart drops. He's about to go downstairs and drink himself to death when Elrin takes a tiny step forward.

"They took her," the boy says before shaking his head, "I-I don't know why. She had her hands tied, but she gave me this. Told me to give it to you so you'd believe me," he says, thrusting his little arm out to Sandor. It's a small coin purse. Sandor takes it with a grim expression. His fingers slowly curl over it, tighter and tighter until it's squashed in his palm.

"Who took her?" he asks, rage building within him.

"I don't know…"

"You gotta do better than that, boy," Sandor growls harshly, making the child jump.

"I-I didn't ask their names," he stammers and steps back.

"You better give me _something._ " His voice is dangerous. He takes a threatening step forward when Elrin just keeps staring at him. The boy whimpers and presses himself against the wall.

"T-they had a cart!" he cries, speaking quickly and trying to come up with something to make the scary man leave him alone, "Each of 'em had a horse a-and a sword. They blessed my pa when they left, said the lord would protect us, then took off. Didn't have a flag or nothing. Just a funny patch of cloth all sewn together."

Sandor knows that sigil. He's only seen it once, but it's enough for him to remember.

The Brotherhood Without Banners.

He snarls and doesn't hesitate to put his hand through the wall this time. He hears Elrin whimper before taking off down the stairs. He doesn't care though. Those fuckers have Linette for gods know what.

The Brotherhood claim to protect the weak and innocent, but Sandor doesn't buy into the crap they're selling. He knows people. He knows what they do. If it were his brother, if Gregor found her, he'd rape her until she passed out. Then he'd torture her. Leave her with her neck cut open and all her limbs hacked off. And he's a fucking _knight_.

Sandor growls and stalks downstairs. No one dares to look at him when he crosses the tavern this time. The fury rolls off him in waves. Dark and dangerous. He throws the doors open and walks brusquely to the stables. He's atop Stranger in a matter of seconds, riding hard into the night in minutes.

There's no power on earth that'll stop him from killing any of the cunts that touch her. They better hope she's fine when he finds her, because he _will_ find her, and anyone who's made her anything less than the perfect condition she was in when he last saw her will wish they were never born. He'll cut off their dicks. He'll boil the skin right off their bones. He chuckles darkly to himself at the thought. Maybe he and Gregor aren't so different after all… but for once, he doesn't give a fuck. Not this time.


	19. True Knights

**CHAPTER 19: TRUE KNIGHTS**

Linette rushes out of the inn as fast as she can. Tears stream down her face, making it difficult to watch where she's going, but she somehow manages to make it to the street without falling over. The tightness in her chest makes her stop though. It's suffocating, like a vice grip twisting her heart and her lungs mercilessly. She can't breathe.

She ducks down some alley. Her back hits the wall as she sobs uncontrollably, struggling to get enough air into her lungs. Her fingers fist into her hair in an attempt to stop her wheezing, but her chest feels like it's going to burst. Her legs begin to wobble. She slides down the wall to sit in the dirt.

She can't believe how incredibly stupid she was. Why did she think Sandor wanted her like she wanted him? All it took was a couple pretty words and she was ready to give herself to him. She didn't even hesitate. It hadn't occurred to her that he might be using her. She didn't think it was something he would do. Yet, she supposes she _should_ have known. He's been telling her what a monster he is since she first met him. The Hound.

She understands why they call him that now.

Anger rushes through her. She punches the ground as hard as she can. Her knuckles throb, but she doesn't care. It sends a rush through her, the adrenaline of anger like a drug.

Yet, as much as she wants to, she doesn't hate him. Her chin trembles. It's childish, but she desperately wants him to come running around the corner, to find her and tell her he was wrong, but she knows that's something he'd never do. He isn't a knight. She knows that now. If he wanted to find her, it would be with a brooding look and rough words. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Linette sniffles and roughly wipes her face with the back of her hand. She lets her head fall back against the building with a thud and closes her eyes, trying to even her breathing. Her heart continues to ache though. She can't calm herself.

This is the first time she's laid with a man by choice. Those lions ripped her girlhood away long ago. She'd been so broken afterward, with no one to help her pick up the pieces. Her family was gone. Her town in ruins. All she had was herself, well what was left of herself. After months of walking the land like a dead woman, she finally made a promise to herself that she'd take control of her life. She was going to find the Reach. She was going to go to Essos. She was only going to lay with a man because she wanted to, because she loved him and she knew he cared for her too.

She broke all her promises.

She feels so much like she did right after the lions left her naked on the floor of her father's workshop. Weak. Useless. Used.

It's an awful feeling. She desperately wants it to go away, but all she can do is cry.

For hours, that's what she does. No one sees her or hears her over the bustle of the crowd and the darkness of the alley. It's only when she's cried all she can, her stomach aching from the sobbing and her eyes raw, that she finally stops. Her shoulders still shake, but there are no tears.

She wants to leave this awful town. She doesn't think she can face Sandor again. His words ring in her head. He said he didn't want her. She saw his regret plain as day. He couldn't wait to get away from her.

Even still, she knows she can't leave without seeing him. She owes it to herself. She wants to tell him how much of an ass he is. She wants him to see how much he hurt her. He might not even care, but she needs him to know she cares for him. She still does. That fact makes her even angrier, but she doesn't dwell on it. She was going to tell him before and it won't do any harm to tell him now. Besides, she refuses to let him take anything else from her.

Now determined, Linette wipes her face dry with her sleeve. Her eyes are swollen and her throat is scratchy, but she stands with a strength equal in power to the sorrow she'd felt only moments ago.

"Fuck you, Sandor," she hisses venomously, the words sinking into the air in the most satisfying way as she finally finds the strength to stand. Her legs are wobbly and stiff, but she walks out of the alley with as much grace as she can manage.

She's almost to the inn when she stops suddenly. People curse at her, having to go around her. She stands there for a second before turning and walking in the opposite direction. If she's going to see him, she's not going to show up empty handed. She said she'd make up the coin they'd spent at the inn and that's exactly what she'll do. She'll get the money and then some.

Her eyes blaze as she walks purposefully through the streets. If she does this one thing well, she won't feel so worthless.

She slinks through the crowd easily. No one looks at her or speaks to her which is exactly what she wants. Her hands slide into men's pockets and jackets without them feeling so much as a poke. She loses herself in the familiarity of it all. Hours pass and she's more than made up for the money they spent at the inn, but she doesn't stop. Her cloak grows so heavy that she returns to the alley, making a pile of the purses, jewelry, and coin she's stolen. It's quite impressive. She doesn't even care if someone finds it, she just wants to see how big she can make it.

It's about a foot tall before her stomach begins to growl. The sun is low in the sky now, only a few hours from setting, and she realizes she hasn't eaten all day.

With a smug smile, she snatches one of the coin purses off the pile and heads into the street. There's food at the inn, but she doesn't want to go there yet. She looks for another inn instead. There will be food there. Ale even. Maybe it will help soothe her for when she eventually does go talk to Sandor… She shakes her head immediately at the thought. No. She can't stomach the stuff right now. It'll only make her think of last night. It'll taste like him.

Linette reaches the other side of town before she finds another inn. The area isn't as dense as the rest of the village. Buildings are more spread out, leading to open farmland further in the distance. She spots an inn sitting at the edge of town. It isn't as big as the other one, but she can smell roasted meat and ale in the air. It'll do.

She pulls her hood up and walks up the steps of the building. Although it's smaller than the other inn, it's just as packed. Men sit at the tables and stand along the walls, singing songs and laughing boisterously. Ale sloshes out of their tankards as they hit them together.

Linette walks slowly through the room. She doesn't want to call attention to herself. Thankfully, she manages not to. Maybe it's the hood, but the barkeep doesn't even look at her when he gives her the plate of food she asks for. She takes it silently and slinks to the far corner of the room to an open seat between two portly gentlemen. They don't acknowledge her at all.

She eats slowly, perfectly content to be invisible. People flow in and out. The men on either side of her loudly discuss their plans to go to the Twins for a wedding between some lord and lady she doesn't care about. She rolls her eyes at their lude comments about the lady, Roslin Frey. They aren't even creative about it. Just saying how they'd like to deflower a lady. They cackle like it's the funniest thing in the world, then stumble out.

Linette enjoys the extra table space for a grand total of five or so minutes before two men come over, one sitting beside her, the other across from her. Neither have any food or drink. That makes her uneasy. She spares them a discrete glance from underneath her hood.

Both appear to be travelers. Their cloaks and boots are covered in a thin layer of dirt. The man beside her is dirtier than the other. He's sturdily built, with wide shoulders and big hands. He raises a bushy eyebrow at the other man who sits on the other side of the table. This one wears a leather jerkin and a quiver on his back. He's tall with a headful of dark hair to match the scruff on his face. He seems young. His eyes crinkle as he leans forward on the table toward her.

"Ello lass," he says, "Why don't you take off that there hood of yours?"

Linette freezes. The man grins.

"We don't mean you no harm, little lady. Just want to chat is all."

She doesn't move for another moment, watching the two closely. They don't do anything other than watch her. She tentatively reaches up to lower her hood. The tall one leans back and whistles when she meets his eye, her face now visible.

"What's a pretty lass like you doin' here all by yourself?" he asks.

Linette eyes him warily. He's got a certain cheeky charm to him, that's clear, but his eyes are sharp. She doesn't trust him.

"Eating," she says, taking a deliberate bite of the chicken. Both men laugh.

"Aye," the portly one says, "We can see that."

The archer snickers before holding his hand out to Linette. "I'm Anguy. This is Graige. Who might you be?"

Linette eyes his hand for a moment, then meets his gaze evenly

"None of your business," she says matter-of-factly.

The smile slips off Graige's face, but Anguy chuckles, letting his hand drop down on the table. He cocks his head to the side.

"Alright. I'll let you keep your mystery, but we still need to have that chat."

"What about?" Linette slowly moves her hand down to settle on the pommel of her sword.

"All those purses you lifted."

Her eyes fearfully flit to Graige then back to Anguy, "You going to turn me in?"

Anguy laughs lightly, "No, lass. We want to recruit you."

"... what?" she frowns.

"Re-cruit," Anguy says the word slowly like he's explaining it to a child.

Linette scowls at him. "I get that bit. Recruit for what?"

"To get us some of that pretty penny of yours," Graige tugs at her cloak, making the coin in the pocket jingle. She scowls and rips it out of his hand.

"No thanks," she glares at him.

"We saw your little stash," Anguy leans across the table toward her. She turns her glare on him, but he doesn't react, "It's impressive. The Brotherhood could use those kinds of funds. You can obviously get it. Therefore, the Brotherhood could use you. We're in the market for a thief anyway."

"I don't _care_ what the Brotherhood wants," Linette spits, "I don't even know what the Brotherhood _is_. Sorry to disappoint, but I'm going to say no."

She gives the men a smile before slapping her hands on the table. She stands, about to leave, but Graige grabs her arm and yanks her back down. Her hand flies to her sword, but a knife is suddenly held threatening against her ribs. She freezes. It's Anguy who smiles now.

"Sorry, little lady," he says, "but we weren't asking."

"Fuck you," she growls as Graige heaves her up, the knife hidden under her cloak.

"I won't stop ya if you do," Anguy gives her a cheeky grin before leading the way out of the inn. Graige follows, tugging Linette with him. She thinks about fighting, but the knife on her skin stops her.

The men lead her out to the back of the inn to a covered, wooden cart. It's small, pulled by two horses. A few other men mill around, a few sat on horses of their own and two others leaning against the wall of the building. They all turn when Anguy walks up and slaps his hand against the side of the cart.

"Here we go, boys!" he calls, "Got ourselves a thief!"

A few of the men wolf whistle as she walks by. The ones on the horse turn and look at her, grinning. She slows her pace until Graige gets fed up and drags her.

"Don't worry, little lady," Anguy suddenly appears in front of her with a rope.

She flinches back from him instinctually. He almost looks apologetic and gently takes her hands, tying the rope securely around her wrists. He doesn't release her when he's done. He squeezes her fingers to make her look at him.

"I promise you won't be hurt," he says quietly, "We just need you to steal for us for a while. We'll let you go when we're done."

Linette glares at him, "When you're done? With what?"

"With the war," Anguy says, releasing her hands. He turns around and slams his hand against the side of the cart again.

"Listen up!" he yells then waits until all the men's eyes are on him. Once they are, he points at Linette, "This girl is helpin' us. Anyone so much as look at 'er wrong gets an arrow right up the ass. Got it?"

There's a low grumble of consent. It doesn't make Linette feel better.

"Come on then, little lady," Anguy takes her elbow and hoists her up into the cart. It smells like men. She wrinkles her nose and sits down on one of the wooden benches that line the two walls. Anguy sits to her left, Graige on her right, and two others on the bench across from her. One is bald and stocky with beady eyes. The other is tall, built like a soldier, with unruly blonde hair and a beard to match. They're both grinning at her.

She recognizes the look in their eyes. Her lips curl in disgust. She turns her head away from them and looks out at the road just as the cart lurches forward. Her heart sinks as the inn slowly disappears beyond the hills, Sandor with it. As angry as she is with him, she'd rather be with him than with this stupid Brotherhood. Seems like her life's quickly going to shit.

"Where are we going?" she asks quietly, not taking her eyes off the road. Anguy looks down at her and stretches his legs out leisurely in front of him.

"Gonna buy some food," he says, "then we'll meet up with the rest."

Linette nods, more to herself than him. They're going to stop. She doesn't know when, but they will. Maybe she can escape then, or at least get a message to Sandor.

Her chest constricts painfully when she realizes he might not even care that she's gone. He might not look for her. Tears prick in her eyes but she shakes her head hard and grits her teeth. She will _not_ cry. She's going to be strong. She'll leave him a sign, she decides, whether or not he wants it. He owes her for being an ass. Besides, she's not going to sit around waiting for him anyway. She'll find a way to escape without him. It'll just bring her some peace of mind to know that she's not alone, that at least one person in this fucked up world knows what happened to her.

It isn't long before the cart stops. Linette sits up. Outside is a wide expanse of farmlands. Rows and rows of yellow grain stretch for miles on either side of the road. Though she can't see it, she assumes there's a farmhouse somewhere nearby.

"Excuse me, lass," Anguy grins before leaning over her. She growls and moves away from him. He reaches into her cloak pocket and takes a few coins out of the coin purse. He grins widely, holds the coins up for her to see.

"Thankin' you greatly," he chuckles before hopping out of the cart and disappearing around the side. Graige smiles at her before following.

It's just her and the grinning men now. She eyes them warily, shuffling uncomfortably in her seat. The bald one puts his elbows on his knees and leans toward her. He smirks.

"What's your name, beautiful?" he asks. Linette stiffens and presses her lips into a thin line, refusing to answer. The man looks amused.

"Think she's mute?" the blonde one laughs and nudges his friend with his elbow.

"I sure hope so," the bald man's smirk widens, "Can't go crying to Anguy then. Can ya, love?"

He reaches out to push one of Linette's loose curls away from her face. She rips away from him with a snarl. He laughs but leans away from her.

"Gatins," the blonde one hisses, looking out of the cart nervously, "Don't go doin' that where everyone can see. I ain't dying for you or your cock."

The bald man, Gatins, rolls his eyes.

"Shut the fuck up, Morgan. No one's gonna see," he says, standing up.

"Where you going now?" Morgan snaps when Gatins jumps down out of the cart.

"Need some more of that wine Lem's got."

"You don't need any more fucking wine," Morgan chastises, but follows Gatins anyway. The two men lumber out of view.

Linette breathes a sigh of relief, but she doesn't relax. These men are exactly what she thought they'd be. Anguy gave her a promise he couldn't keep, just like all the men who'd ever made a promise to her.

She inches closer to the opening of the cart, trying to see where the men have gone. There's a quaint little farmhouse to the left. A few of the men are standing in the yard, drinking and talking. To her right is a small field. It's flat, filled only with tall, reed grass. Beyond the field is a line of trees that mark the border of a thick wood. It's not much, but it's a chance. Linette bites her lip and looks back at the men. If she can just make it through the field without being seen, she might be able to get to the trees. From there, who knows, but at least she'll be away from these scoundrels.

With bated breath, she watches the men, waiting for the perfect moment when none of them are facing her. Someone calls from inside the farmhouse and two of the men go inside. That leaves only two. They clink their wineskins together and turn. Their backs face Linette. This is her chance.

She whips her head back around, just about to jump out of the cart and run for her life when a little face appears before her. She startles. The boy's blue eyes grow wide. Linette recognizes those eyes.

"Elrin?" she hisses in disbelief.

The boy looks toward the men before scrambling up into the cart. His unruly, sandy colored hair is full of hay.

"What are you doing here?!" Linette hisses, worried for him now. "You need to go! I don't know what they'll do if they find you!"

He ignores her and hurries to her side. His little hands take hold of her wrists, trying to untie her, but he's too clumsy. He gives up after a second and looks at her with those big eyes of his.

"Did they kidnap you, miss?"

"Yes," Linette nods. She opens her mouth again, about to tell him to run back to the inn and get Sandor, but a brave look appears on the small boy's face. He stands as tall as he can.

"I'll help you," he says quickly, squaring his little shoulders, "Don't you worry, miss. I'll go get your husband. He can kill all these men without even trying."

Linette laughs. It's watery. Tears are in her eyes again and she wants nothing more than to hug this kind-hearted little boy.

"Would you please?" she asks weakly, trying to keep her tears back. He nods quickly then turns to go.

"Wait!" Linette calls out to him. He spins back around as she awkwardly rustles around in her cloak. It's tough with her hands tied, but she eventually manages to retrieve the coin purse.

"Here," she holds it out to him, "Give this to Sandor. So he knows you're serious. I was supposed to bring it to him…"

Elrin nods and takes it into his pudgy little hands. He stuffs it under his shirt.

"Don't you worry, miss," he says, "I'll make sure you're okay."

Linette smiles, "Thank you, Elrin."

Then, he's gone. Linette turns to look at the farm. The men are back now. They're carrying sacks of food toward the cart. She's lost her opportunity to run.

She shuffles back to where she was earlier on the bench. Anguy, Graige, Morgan, and Gatins come back not long after, and the cart is moving again. Though she's uneasy in the men's company, she's not afraid. Not really. Sandor will know what happened now. That brings her a small bit of comfort, but it's Elrin's brave little face and determined words that reassure her most.

She sits back in the cart, a smug smile on her lips. She finally found something Sandor was wrong about. True knights do exist.


	20. The Brotherhood

**CHAPTER 20: THE BROTHERHOOD**

They ride for two days. Linette sleeps in the cart each night although it's absolutely freezing. She could sleep by the fire, the men have offered numerous times, but Anguy sleeps in the cart, and Linette trusts him the most out of everyone there.

Though she and the archer aren't exactly friendly, they've come to a sort of agreement. They're civil to one another. While Linette snaps at all the other men, she doesn't mind Anguy. He doesn't bother her. He, in turn, makes sure she's never alone for too long. He trusts his men, but he doesn't have time for mistakes.

"We're almost there," he nudges her gently on the arm. They've been travelling down the same narrow trail through the forest for the last couple of hours. Linette doesn't know exactly where they are, but she assumes they're still in the Riverlands.

"Gonna meet your leader then?" she mumbles scornfully. He laughs and leans back lazily on the bench.

"That's right, thief," he winks at her.

Linette almost smiles. She hasn't told them her name yet. Anguy's taken it upon himself to calling her _thief_ which is fine by her. Her name is the only thing she has over them, and she isn't too keen on letting it go.

The forest is bright and quiet as they travel. Linette is sure she'd be bothering Sandor with all of her marvelling if he were here. The thought puts a sour taste in her mouth. Luckily, though, she doesn't get to focus on it too long because a voice suddenly cuts through the silence. Someone is singing. Quite drunkenly.

" _In coat of gold or coat of red  
A lion still has his claws, _

_and mine are long and sharp_

 _as long and sharp as yours."_

Anguy grins broadly before hopping out of the still moving cart. Linette frowns as the cart stops. The other men hop out too and the commotion of masculine voices echo through the wood. Graige grabs her arm and pulls her toward it all.

"Thoros! You old dog, you're gonna alert all the Lannisters from here to King's Landing."

Linette frowns at Anguy's jovial voice. She can't see him yet, but she does see a whole mass of people. It isn't an army exactly, only a couple dozen men, but they all have weapons.

"Doubt those scoundrels would want to touch steel with me!" Another spirited voice calls out, slurring slightly. Linette frowns. It sounds familiar, but she can't place it.

"Nah," Anguy agrees, "They think you're a wizard."

"How do you know I'm not?"

The men snicker. Linette can see them now. Anguy is standing in front of a man Linette has met once before. He's a bit skinnier than when she last saw him. Gone is his bear-skin cape. The warmer weather has replaced it with a crude set of leather armor and a brown, woven stole. It reminds Linette of the ones the holy men who passed through her village used to wear. Yet, this man's is tucked into the scabbard strap around his waist, very unlike the holy men. He still seems a friendly sort though. His greying, red hair is pulled into a top knot on his head. There's a flask in his hand. Anguy shakes his head when the man, Thoros, takes a long sip.

"Got you somethin'," the archer says, turning to where Graige and Linette stand and beckoning them over with a nod of his head. Graige obeys, pulling Linette toward the two men.

"Found us a thief," Anguy smiles proudly at the blonde woman who scowls. Thoros chuckles, still drinking, before turning to Linette. He frowns as he looks her over. His blue eyes are glazed, but she sees the recognition slowly appear.

"Lass!" he exclaims, grinning widely, "Told you I'd see you again, didn't I?"

Linette wants to lash out at him, but she can't. Without Thoros, she wouldn't even be alive. He helped her when she needed it. He can't be that bad then, can he?

"Hello, Thoros," she smiles despite her irritation at being in this predicament, kidnapped and tied up. The ginger grins.

"How the fuck do you know each other?" Anguy asks, staring incredulously between the pair.

"Saved the little lady from a bunch of wolves," Thoros smacks his ale-covered lips and gives her a knowing look, "Didn't I?"

Linette sighs but nods, "Yes. Thank you for that again."

"Find any more wolves while you've been gone?"

"No. Just dogs."

Thoros laughs heartily, nudging Anguy who still looks confused.

"Where'd you find my little adventurer?" he asks. Linette wrinkles her nose at that, but Anguy answers before she can snap at the drunken ginger.

"Dawros," he says, "Graige spotted her pickpocketing. Had a mighty fine stash too, least a foot tall. Figured she could do some good workin' with us."

"He forgets to mention that he kidnapped me," Linette glares at the archer. He grins back at her. She turns her to Graige who's still holding onto her arm, "and this one put a knife to my side."

"Just business, little lady," Thoros says flippantly, making Linette turn to him with a shocked expression.

"I thought you were better than that."

"I'm as good as I can be. War does things to a man, little lady. A sword gets put in your hand and it changes what you know. Got to do things you wouldn't have done before."

"I suppose kidnapping women is one of them."

"Aye," Thoros nods, handing his flask off to Anguy, "but we won't hurt you. Haven't changed that much."

Linette watches him warily as he takes a knife out of his boot and cuts her bindings away. She yanks her arm out of Graige's hold as soon as she's free. With a glare in his direction, she turns back to Thoros, rubbing her sore wrists.

"How do you know I won't run?"

"This one's a mighty good shot," he says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Anguy, "and you don't look stupid. Think you'll chose life."

Her eyes narrow. Thoros smiles like they've been friends forever then turns around. He snatches his flask back from Anguy and walks away, toward the cart.

"Might as well get comfortable, Linette. You owe me, remember? Consider this repayment."

She scowls at his back. Anguy suddenly appears by her side, snickering. Linette rolls her eyes in irritation then turns her head to face him.

"What?" she snaps. His dark eyes flit down to meet hers. He's smirking.

"Thief's got a name after all."

She groans. Anguy's laughter grows as he comes to stand in front of her.

"Linette isn't too bad," he says, crossing his arms over his chest and peering down at her, "Figured you for a Jasline or a Maralynne though. Something pretty. Dainty."

Linette whips her sword out faster than he has time to blink. The point of the blade rests directly under his chin. His eyes widen, all laughter gone, and she smirks.

"Dainty?"

"Where the fuck were you hiding that?"

She shrugs, "In the scabbard. Where all swords go. You idiots didn't even check me for weapons."

"Didn't think we needed to," he laughs humorlessly. "Our mistake. Now, you gonna actually kill me or you done making your point?"

"Depends," she says slowly, "You gonna let me keep my sword if I lower it? Or will you take it from me?"

"Don't think we could take it without a fight. Rather not if you don't mind."

Linette narrows her eyes. He seems calm if not on edge. His dark brow raises as she continues to watch him. For some reason she trusts him. Sandor would call her a fool, but she lowers her sword anyway.

True to his word, Anguy doesn't make a move to take her sword from her.

"That's a nice blade," he says slowly, his eyes sharp as he stares at her sword. She nods, suddenly feeling nervous, and holds the pommel tighter when Anguy's takes a step forward, scrutinizing the deep red hilt now.

"That's wyvern leather, that is. Mighty fine too." His eyes snap to hers, "You a high born?"

"No," Linette shakes her head, quickly returning her sword to the scabbard. "It was a gift. I didn't buy it."

"A gift from who?"

"No one that matters." She glares at the blade as if it were him, feeling anger at the sword's presence, yet she still holds tightly to the hilt.

Anguy clearly isn't convinced by her words. His eyes narrow at her who simply stares back at him, her fingers relentless around the pommel of her sword. Their standoff continues for another moment before Anguy turns away. He cracks his neck and stretches out his shoulders.

"We won't reach a town 'till sunup," he says nonchalantly, "You'll get us the coin then."

Linette sighs, relieved to be talking about something else. "What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"

"You could try to make friends, but I doubt you'll be very good at it," he grins before turning and walking in the other direction. He waves at her to follow, "Come on. You can train with me."

"Train?" she frowns, not moving from her spot.

"Archery!" he calls as he continues to walk, "Now hurry it on up. I ain't waitin' on you forever."

Linette hesitates for a moment. She looks over at the cart where Thoros is talking seriously to a group of men, then to her left where most of the men are gathered. They're drinking. She sees the grinning men from the cart, Morgan and Gatins. They're with a third man now. He's large and strong, wearing a thick, yellow cloak.

"Last chance!" Anguy yells over his shoulder.

Linette tears her eyes from the men and darts off after the archer.

"Good choice," he smirks down at her as she falls into step beside him. She doesn't respond though. He's annoying as hell.

They walk through the forest in silence. The chatter of the men behind them dies down the further they walk. Linette momentarily wonders why Anguy's allowing her to go so far away from the group. Wouldn't it just be easier for her to escape then? Her eyes go to the quiver and bow attached to his back. He must be one hell of an archer if he thinks he can manage her out here alone. That, or incredibly arrogant. She feels like it's both.

"So…" she drawls as they come upon a small, open field, "What exactly is the Brotherhood?"

He grins at her over his shoulder, "We're outlaws."

"Yeah, I got that part," Linette snorts and shakes her head at the man as he retrieves his bow and an arrow from his back.

"We didn't start out as outlaws," he says, notching the arrow, "Were fighting for Eddard Stark at the beginning. He sent Beric Dondarrion and a small army to keep the peace in the Riverlands when the War first started. Obviously didn't work out so well."

Linette frowns, "Lord Beric Dondarrion? Of Blackhaven?"

Anguy lets the arrow fly. It cuts the air before sinking into the notch of a tree on the opposite side of the field.

"That's him," he nods, turning to her, "You know him?"

She shakes her head, "No. Just heard of him. People in my village liked to gossip. Got a lot of news from White Harbor."

"You're from the North?"

"Yes."

He quirks a brow, "You sure?"

" _Yes_ ," Linette says firmly, knowing exactly what he's going to say. The archer spares her another glance before turning around. She watches him retrieve his arrow. He yanks it out of the tree forcefully then inspects it as he walks back toward her.

"You never answered my question," she says when he reaches her. He notches his arrow again and aims it at something across the field.

"What was it?"

"About the Brotherhood. I don't care how you started off. What do you do _now_?"

He chuckles, the string of his arrow held taut by his chin. "Fight the Lannisters mostly. Them and anyone else who goes after the smallfolk. They shouldn't have to pay for the squabbles of some old kings."

Linette's eyebrows raise. "You fight the lions?"

"Lions?" Anguy releases his arrow with absolute precision. It hits exactly where it had the first time.

"The Lannisters," Linette says, staring at the arrow, "They're lions."

"You hate them too?"

"Just the evil ones," she sighs, thinking of Sandor, the exception, but quickly shakes her head, "but it seems like most of them are."

Anguy hums in understanding. "What they do to you?"

Linette's eyes move to his. She stares at him so intensely that he finds it impossible to stand still. He awkwardly twirls his bow in his hand.

"Will you teach me how to shoot?" she asks instead of answering.

Anguy isn't surprised by her change of subject. He looks down at the bow in his hands before nodding slowly.

"Come here." He gestures sharply with his head for her to walk over.

She does even though she feels uncomfortable being so near to him. He thrusts the bow into her hands, adjusting her fingers so she holds it correctly, then immediately begins circling her.

"Keep your elbow high," he says, nudging hers up with his fingertips. "You want your back doing all the hard labor. It's stronger than you think. Well… most people's is. Maybe not yours."

He smirks when she shoots him a glare.

They train until the sun goes down. Linette is absolutely horrid at archery. She hadn't expected anything less, but Anguy found it positively hilarious. He teases her mercilessly. Linette finds it increasingly difficult to remember that he's the one who kidnapped her and not just some friendly man she met in the woods.

When they get back to camp, they find the other men sitting around the campfire singing merry tunes about drinking and fucking. Anguy starts toward them, but Linette walks to the cart. She knows it won't be wise to join them. She doesn't want to anyway. The grinning men are over there, singing louder than the rest. She holds tight to the hilt of her sword as she walks, wishing Sandor were here even though she really doesn't know how she'd handle seeing him again.

She sighs when she climbs into the cart. The men's voices carry, but it's quieter. She can just hear the crickets and owls in the distance. Once again, she thinks about running, but she doesn't know where she is. If she takes off without food or water or any sort of destination in mind, she might as well just stab herself in the gut right now. It would be a quicker death.

With a sigh, she lays down on the hard wooden floor of the cart, making sure to face the doors. Her hand doesn't leave her sword as she closes her eyes.

She's just drifting off to sleep when something hard thumps against the cart. The whole thing sinks under some large weight, and she bolts up, her sword brandished in front of her.

"Fuck, lass." Anguy stills, holding his hands up even though he's holding a bowl in each. "If you didn't like mutton all you had to do was say so."

Linette sighs loudly. She rolls her eyes and sheathes her sword, falling back on the floor of the cart. Her frantically beating heart slowly calms. Anguy chuckles and comes over to her. He sits down beside her, still a respectable distance away, before handing her one of the bowls. She takes it uncertainly in her hands. It's full of a brown, lumpy stew.

"It's shit, but it's food," Anguy says, clinking his bowl against hers.

Linette watches him eat. He sips slowly from the bowl before chewing. She looks down at her bowl nervously before reaching over and taking his from his hands, switching it with hers. He laughs as she eats from his bowl.

"Think I'm going to poison you, thief?"

She swallows the god awful mutton before shrugging. "People do worse things for no reason."

"True," Anguy nods then takes a sip out of the bowl, "but we need ya. No reason to be killing you before you're useful."

"So I should worry only after that then?"

Anguy grins. "Precisely."

Linette knows he's joking. She doesn't want to, but she smiles. Anguy takes that as a personal accomplishment and leans back against the wall, getting comfortable. Linette still sits in the corner a good distance away from him, her legs crossed. They eat in silence. When they've eaten their last bites, Anguy takes the bowls and stacks them on the floor. He sighs contentedly and lies down on his back. Linette eyes him warily.

"Go to sleep, girl," he mumbles, his eyes closed, "You'll just get bored watchin' me."

"Why aren't you with your friends?" she asks just as the men outside erupt into a burst of rambunctious laughter. Anguy shrugs with a sniff.

"Gotta make sure you don't run away."

"I'm not going to run."

"Well forgive me for not trustin' you just yet."

Linette sighs and lays down as far away from him as she can. She doesn't trust him yet either, but she is glad he's staying. Knowing someone is watching out for her is reassuring. Even if he is only watching her for his own gain. At least she knows she won't be killed in her sleep.

She gets as comfortable as she can. The floor is hard underneath her and the night wind blows in just enough to make her shiver. The memory of Sandor's warm body around hers pops into her head. She grits her teeth as her lashes begin to dampen. Her hand curls tightly over her sword and she angrily rolls over to face the wall. Memories of their night together invade her mind, and she spends all her energy pushing them away. It's exhausting. She falls asleep quickly from the effort.


	21. Climbing

**CHAPTER 21: CLIMBING**

The Raven Boy is climbing. He stretches himself out as far as he can, trying to move faster. The cold bites into his already frigid skin worse than it ever has before. Snowflakes gather on his eyelashes as the frosty wind pierces his practically frozen body. Linette feels the strain of a tether pulling at his belt. His body is tense, the muscles in his legs so tight that if he weren't so focused they'd be shaking.

Linette's panic mixes in with his. She's terrified he'll fall. She doesn't know what lies beneath him or even what he's climbing toward, but the frantic beating of his heart tells her that falling would mean death.

The fear spikes without warning. Blood pumps in the Boy's ears deafeningly, rushing through him almost as fast as the wind in the air. His body goes rigid. He tries to hold onto something, but a massive gust of snow and ice rains down on him. He slips.

He falls through the air, pummeling toward the earth, but the tether at his belt catches him, sending a sharp flare of pain through his body. He dangles from the rope, his breaths coming in ragged, desperate bursts as he searches frantically for something to hold onto. He's afraid, but not in the way Linette expects. Death doesn't scare him, at least not his own. He's afraid for someone else.

Suddenly, he's swinging in the air. Back and forth through the icy winds and the snow that still falls on his face. Linette is horrified that the wind will finally take him, but she soon realizes that he's doing this on purpose. He throws his body side to side, propelling himself toward something. Linette doesn't know what, but her heart leaps when he seems to find what it is he's looking for. He's caught hold of something.

With almost inhuman strength and courage, the Raven Boy pulls himself up. He isn't dangling anymore. Solid ice meets his cheek instead of the soft snowfall. She sees orange again, that soft warmth of his that she'd seen in the burning world. The Raven Boy falls into it, and Linette knows he's found some sort of safety. For the moment. It's not hers, but she drinks it in. She's forgotten what it felt like: safety and the flame. Their absence pains her heart in the same way that it does when she's awake, and she wonders, sorrow blackening the Raven Boy's peace, whether she'll ever see hers again.


	22. Worthless

**CHAPTER 22: WORTHLESS**

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Release.

The swift sound of an arrow whizzes through the air. It's satisfying, but the thud of the arrow hitting the ground is not. Linette's shoulders slump with disappointment.

"Keep your elbow straight until your arrow hits the target, not until you release it."

Linette huffs before turning to Anguy where he sits sprawled against the tree behind her. "I did that time!"

"Oh," he widens his eyes sarcastically, "That must be why you hit the target then."

"You're an ass."

He grins wide through a mouthful of the dried meat he's gnawing on. "Being an ass don't have nothing to do with archery. Wish it did. Be better than I already am."

Linette glares at him. His barking laughter makes her turn away from him. With an irritated shake of her head, she retrieves another arrow from the quiver she wears on her back. She wipes the loose curls from her eyes, focusing on the tree she's been using as a target. Notching the arrow a little clumsily, she repeats the steps Anguy's told her at least a thousand times: breathe in, breathe out, focus, release, but this time, she intentionally keeps her elbow as straight as possible, not even daring to breathe until she hears the arrow making contact with something. A thud echoes, its low timbre much different than before.

"See," Anguy says, sounding smug, "Keep your elbow straight."

Without lowering her arms or the bow she still holds in front of her, Linette stares incredulously at the arrow which sits perfectly imbedded into the thick bark of the tree she's been aiming for for the last half hour. Well, really for the last two days. She's done nothing other than train with Anguy since they arrived at the camp. Even with all the practice, she hasn't yet hit any of the targets the archer has set up for her. She can't help but feel proud. A small smile tugs on her lips. She looks over her shoulder to see Anguy grinning back at her.

"Oh ho! Bout time, ain't it!"

The booming voice immediately replaces Linette's smile with a scowl. Anguy sighs heavily and stands, holding his hand out to Linette for his bow and quiver. She passes them over just as Lem, Morgan, and Gatins emerge from the trees. It's still early in the morning, the sun low and the sky stained a hazy orange, but the men's presence immediately makes Linette feel as if the day has stretched on beyond its limit.

"The lass actually hit something?!" Gatins cackles as he lumbers across the clearing to where the arrow protrudes from the tree. He strums a finger against the shaft, making the arrow vibrate like a lute string. Linette watches him with mounting irritation.

"She did," Anguy states simply. He maneuvers to stand beside yet still slightly in front of Linette, putting the other three men deliberately in his sight. It isn't a challenging stance, not even a protective one, just practiced. Even still, it eases Linette's mounting temper.

"Thought she'd grow a foot before she hit anything," Morgan laughs. He seems to be talking to himself more than anyone else, but his deep voice carries easily. Linette's glare heats, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword. Anguy rolls his eyes.

"What did you idiots come over here for?" he asks, "I'm guessing not to watch the girl shoot."

"Not a girl," Linette hisses under her breath.

"Thoros wants you back," Lem explains with a shrug of his shoulders. "Don't know what for, but he wanted to make sure we brought the girl. Think it's time to see if she's worth all the food we've been givin' her."

"She'll earn her keep." Anguy's voice is confident. Linette is momentarily surprised, but the archer soon turns to her and nods his head in Gatins' direction. "Retrieve that arrow, little lady. Can't afford to lose any."

With a small sigh, she heads toward the tree. Gatins smirks at her as she approaches, his lips pulled back to show off his yellowed teeth and bulging cheeks. He makes no effort to move out of her way, instead standing just slightly in front of the arrow. Without wavering her glare, she shoves her shoulder into his side and yanks the arrow out of the tree with more force than necessary. Gatins stumbles out of her way. He chuckles as she angrily walks back to Anguy. The archer takes the arrow from her with a piercing gaze.

"Come on ya cunts!" Gatins hollers to no one in particular. He stomps past, earning a harsh shove from Morgan.

"I've seen your dick," the blonde man cackles, "Smaller than a babe's big toe, it is! _You're_ the closest thing to a cunt in this whole damned forest!"

They erupt into laughter, only stopping when Lem strides forward, his yellow cloak billowing impressively behind him.

"Second closest, you mean." He smirks in Linette's direction. The other mens' laughter quiet as they turn to snicker in her direction. Her lip curls with utter distaste. They laugh at her, clearly finding her amusing, before turning and making their way toward camp. She follows begrudgingly, her jaw tight and her body tense with anger. Anguy falls into step beside her. They walk in silence for a few moments, and she focuses only on the sound of her feet on the leaves, trying to force her irritation to fade. It isn't working in the least.

"Fuck off."

Anguy's harsh voice has her turning to him quickly. She's surprised to see him looking right at her. She blinks.

"Excuse me?"

He stares at her without wavering. "Fuck. Off."

" _What_?" she bristles. "Who do yo-"

"Next time," Anguy interrupts casually, turning away from her to look forward, "tell them to fuck off. They're simple men, and I mean that in the rudest way possible, mind. Simple men. And simple men need simple instructions: Go here. Go there. Do this. Don't do that. _Fuck off_. Understand?"

Linette grits her teeth. She shifts her glare from the side of Anguy's face and glowers at the ground instead. "It's not that easy."

"Why the fuck not? Aren't you tired of the way those twats talk to you?"

"Yes, but-"

"Didn't take you for the type to let anybody walk over ya."

She huffs, stepping a little harder on the ground than necessary. "I'm _not_ , it's just that I-"

"Well you either are or you aren't, there's no in-between."

"I _know._ That's not what-"

"You've got to stop tr-"

"Would you _stop_ fucking interrupting me!" She throws her arms out angrily, the irritated turmoil of emotions simmering within her, fighting for an escape. Anguy snaps his mouth shut. He eyes her, waiting for her to talk. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, trying to find the right words, but quickly grows irritated and abruptly stops in the middle of the path. Anguy calmly stands beside her as Gatins, Morgan, and Lem's forms grow smaller and smaller ahead of them. Linette feels her mind struggling to keep her thoughts in with each inch they're further away.

"Of course I want to tell those fuckers off," she growls after a moment, running an irritated hand through her dirty, tangled hair. "I'm tired of their ignorant words and the-the absolute _vacancy_ in their heads. They consider me inferior, assume I don't stand a chance against them despite not knowing anything about me! I know they see me as nothing more than what's between my legs."

Her chest rises and falls quickly. Thoughts she hadn't dared put words to come to mind, words she's been afraid to even think for fear of the pain they'd bring. They surface now like a rising current and she doesn't have the energy stop them from moving to her lips. "I'm not a means to an end, not something to order around and use for profit. Not just a _cunt_ to toy with then dispose of. I'm _not_ worthless."

The forest stills with her words, the silence weighing down heavily. She feels a strange sense of euphoria as she stands there, sinking in the utter truth of her words, of finally speaking her mind. However, they also bring her pain. It's sharp and cavernous, a sinking hollow in her chest. For a moment, it feels as if she might cry like she did in the alley in Dawros, but she doesn't let herself. Instead, she grips her sword tightly in her hand, her eyes like stone. Her breaths still flow quickly, but they're stronger now, the breaths of a warrior rising after a battle.

She raises her chin proudly, then immediately blushes. Anguy is watching her. Her body slumps, all the air in her body exiting in one burst through her mouth. She hadn't really meant to say those things, not out loud and especially not to Anguy.

"I'm sorry…" She sighs heavily, closing her eyes momentarily to compose herself. "You didn't need to hear that."

The archer is quiet for a moment. He chews on the inside of his cheek as he watches her. She holds his gaze for a moment before growing uncomfortable and looking away.

"What's his name?"

Anguy's question has her turning to him quickly. She frowns. Her heartbeat quickens. "W-what?"

"His name," Anguy pushes on, resting the tip of his bow in the dirt and leaning on the other end. "The bloke who did you over."

Linette's mouth opens, trying to find words, before it closes when she fails to find any. She repeats the process, her mind whirling, but Anguy scoffs to himself before she can figure out what to say.

"Don't try and invent nothing," he says sternly. "Only a man can make a woman so vexed."

Linette stands taller. "I'm not vexed."

"If you ain't vexed then I ain't a sharp-shooting bastard."

A small laugh escapes her despite her intention to remain stoic. "Well, you _are_ that…"

"Aye," he nods, "which means you're more vexed than Cersei without her brother."

She barely manages to hold in her grin. Anguy smirks at his own jest before watching her closely, obviously expecting her to tell him the cause of her apparent vexation, but her resolve is strong. She refuses to tell him anything. Her brow raises as she crosses her arms leisurely over her chest. Anguy eyes her for another moment before pulling himself to his full height and swinging his bow around, neatly securing it to its place on his quiver.

"Fine. Keep it a secret," he shrugs, suddenly walking toward camp. Linette stands dumb-founded at the abrupt change before hastening to his side. He spares her a glance before striding forward at a quicker pace. "Point is: you should show those arses back at camp and whoever your mystery twat is that you ain't gonna be walked on no more. Because you're right, you ain't worthless"

"Who made you my advisor?" she quips half-heartedly, giving him small smile.

"I did, that's who. Only authority I need to do anything."

"Alright," she laughs gently but genuinely. "As long as I can demote you, I don't care which roles you give yourself."

"Deal." He takes the moment to tilt his head back, make a hacking sound, and spit directly into his palm. He holds his mucus-covered hand out for her to shake. She eyes it with disgust for a moment before grabbing his thumb, the only dry appendage, and shaking that, a smirk on her face.

"Deal."

His grin widens. He gives her a sharp nod, a clear approval of their agreement, before pulling his hand out of her grip and continuing toward camp. Linette follows, her head held higher and the smallest of smiles on her lips.

It isn't long before they emerge through the trees and into the small clearing where the Brotherhood has made camp. While most of the men are engaged in some sort of chore, whether it be brushing down the horses, sharpening blades, or preparing supper, a handful hasten around carrying the typical materials for a day's drip: saddles, wineskins, and saddle bags. Linette weaves in-between the hustle-and-bustle, following Anguy's lanky form as he maneuvers through the crowd. A sharp whistle rings out over the commotion, grabbing Anguy and Linette's attention. They turn to see Thoros standing at the edge of camp, his flask in his hand as usual.

"Look alive, you two!" he hollers, a twinkle in his eye. "I'm not fond of being kept waiting!"

"Come on, thief," Anguy calls unnecessarily over his shoulder. Linette is already making her way to the ginger priest. He smiles jovially as she approaches, spreading his arms open wide.

"Such a fair woman is as uncommon a sight here as respectable men."

Linette shakes her head in amusement at his antics. "Those _are_ notoriously hard to come by."

"Now don't sound _too_ surprised," Thoros chastises with a playful wag of his finger. "I, for one, am the exception, being a man of God, you understand."

"That don't mean shit, and you're the first person who'd admit it." Anguy appears at Linette's side. The archer crosses his arms and sets a challenging look on Thoros. The ginger looks sheepish for half a second before bursting into laughter. He throws an arm around Anguy, clapping the archer amicably on the back.

"Who needs a conscience when I have you, my friend, to steer me through my own bullshit?"

Anguy smirks as he watches Thoros sway drunkenly. The priest chuckles to himself before throwing his other arm over Linette's shoulders, pulling her close to his side more to keep himself steady than anything else.

"Now," he says, his voice sobering in a surprisingly quick manner, "I think it's time we finally see how you fair as a thief, eh? Put those nimble fingers and slippery morals to work."

Linette frowns minutely at that description but focuses instead on the prospect of finally doing what she was brought here to do and, the most enticing aspect, begin _done_ with it.

"Fine," she agrees with a nod. "What do you need me to do?"

Thoros grins at her, incredibly happy with her response. He gives her shoulder a fraternal squeeze. "Anguy and some of my most dashing men will take you to the nearest town, and you'll pick as many pockets as those hands find fit. Trade the purses, money and other equal treasures with this."

He retrieves a wrinkled slip of paper from the inside of his cloak and hands it to Linette. She frowns as she reads.

"The Brotherhood Without Banners apologetically thanks your donation to the cause for freedom. Provide this note to a Brotherhood member at the end of the War and you will be compensated in full." She raises a skeptical eyebrow and peers at Thoros over the paper.

"Recompense, little lady," he explains proudly.

"More like an obvious trail of guilt."

Anguy snorts but tries to hide it with a cough when Thoros shoots him a sharp look.

"It may be undeniable evidence against us," the priest justifies, "but it's an attempt to right the wrongs we must do for the sake of justice. It's the least we can do."

Linette easily sees so many things wrong with that logic but decides not to push it. It wouldn't matter what she says anyway, she'll be the thief regardless.

"Fine." She folds the paper neatly and tucks it into her pocket. "Who's going with us on this burglary endeavor?"

"Anguy of course-"

"I have to go," the archer butts in with a grin, "everyone else is useless."

Thoros scoffs good-naturedly before continuing. "Graige, Lem, and Morgan will accompany you. Just for man-power if you, or they, think you need it."

Linette's mouth twists in disapproval. Thoros' sharp eye notices quickly.

"That's not going to be an issue is it?" He pauses, staring at the small woman before him. Linette wants to say yes. Actually, she wants to say _hell_ yes, but she doesn't. She bites her tongue and shakes her head instead. Thoros eyes her for a moment more, analyzing her, before choosing to believe her words Reassured for the moment, he leans back on the heels of his boots, his hand settling underneath his priest's stole to rest on the hilt of his sword. He turns his ice colored eyes on Anguy.

"No issues, eh?"

The archer shakes his head once and readjusts the strap of his bow. "Not a one. And if I'm wrong, we can handle it. Can't we, thief?"

She meets his eyes, remembering their earlier conversation, and gives a quick nod.

"Great!" Thoros claps his hands jovially, "Then get gone you two. The day is young, but it never does well to dawdle."

Anguy gives a short nod to the ginger before motioning for Linette to follow him. He walks off in the direction of the other men. Linette hesitates, anxiously eyeing the sliver of yellow fabric she can see through the crowd. A hand suddenly settles on her shoulder. She jerks her head forward to see Thoros standing before her, a gentle yet firm look on his bearded face.

"You have nothing to fear," he speaks softly. "Anguy has never lost a man and he isn't too keen to start now."

He clearly doesn't understand the true reasons for her fears, but Linette doesn't bother correcting him. She smiles instead, earning a kind squeeze on the shoulder from Thoros. With a warm smile, he releases her and heads off to gods know where. Linette sighs heavily. Although she wants to do literally anything else than travel with Lem and Morgan, she knows she has to. What's more, she knows she _can_. Two pig-headed men won't stop her from doing anything. She won't let them.

With her head held high, she marches through the camp. Her confident stride doesn't slow or waver, not even when the yellow of Lem's cape grows larger and larger. The man stands talking to Morgan who sits on a carelessly discarded crate, drinking from a wineskin. Anguy and Graige are a few feet away, busy saddling the horses and packing provisions.

Morgan catches sight of her first. He whacks Lem across the chest before handing the wineskin to his caped friend. Lem looks to where Morgan jerks his head. At her. He smiles and takes a long drink of wine, his eyes focused only on Linette. She glares at him without inhibition.

"Lass!" Morgan booms, a laugh and a taunt in his voice. He grins widely. "Why don't you join us in a drink? We could use your company."

She turns her glare on him. "Well I could die happily without another moment of yours."

Morgan's face falls in a dark scowl, but Lem sputters in amusement. He takes another gulp of wine before wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

"You got a mouth on you. I like that. Bet you can do all sorts of things."

Linette's whole-body tingles with rage. She vaguely sees Anguy pause in saddling one of the horses. The archer's eyes are on her, watching to see if he need to intervene, but she doesn't pay him any attention. In quick, purposeful strides, she marches up to Lem.

"'Ello, lass," Morgan leers at her in the crudest way. He leans back on the crate and opens his legs wide. "Come here, eh?"

She ignores him. Her stormy, grey eyes are focused entirely on Lem. The man stands at least a head above her, his shoulders wider than any part of her body, but she stands before him with as much courage as he has muscle. His lips turn up on one side.

"Be careful," he says quietly, "You comin' here means only one thing to me, and I ain't gentle."

He reaches up to touch her face, but she snatches his wrist before he can contact her skin. His momentary shock allows her to yank his hand down, squeezing his wrist with all her might, her nails hopefully causing him some amount of pain. Her eyes blaze as she looks right at him.

"Fuck. Off." She violently releases her hold on his wrist, refusing to look away from him or move back.

His eyes narrow, his jaw tightening just slightly. "What did you just say?"

"Fuck off," she repeats without hesitation. "As in go fuck yourself. Get the fuck away from me. Never _fucking_ talk to me again."

A scowl slowly appears on his face. He leans toward her just slightly, his eyes hardening with danger. "I'd be careful if I were you."

"And I'd be careful if I were _you,_ " she spits, "Isn't that right, Anguy?"

"Aye."

Lem startles. He jerks his head to the right before scowling deeper. Anguy still stands by the horses, but the saddles have long been forgotten. Instead, the archer has his bow drawn, an arrow already notched and ready to fly, pointed directly at Lem's heart, a predatory look in his dark eyes. Linette smirks.

"Now," she chides, her voice nothing by honey, "take a step back."

Lem scowls at her, obvious detest in his eyes for her giving him orders. It's clear that he thinks about ignoring her, but he looks back at Anguy, weighing his options, before gritting his teeth and taking the smallest of steps away from her.

She gives a satisfied nod, then fixes a hardened glare on the yellow-cloaked man. "Now, it's in your best interest to heed my instructions when I say fuck off. So, to make sure the sincerity of my words gets through the thickness of your skill, I will say it once more and _only_ once more. _Fuck off._ "

The look in Lem's eyes is hatred of the purest kind, but he doesn't respond to her, knowing full well that Anguy won't make any move to back down. Linette basks in his total helplessness before turning to Morgan. The blond man looks at her in an identical manner to Lem's, but she truly couldn't care any less than she does now. Which is none.

"Same goes for you," she says, "Fuck off."

With a final, triumphant glance at the silent, seething men before her, she turns on her heels and briskly walks to Anguy, her head held high. The archer lowers his bow slowly. Once he's sure the men won't do anything rash, he glances at Linette, a smile on his lips and a proud gleam in his eyes. The white-haired woman grins back at him.

"See, thief," he says, "You were never worthless."


	23. Very Dangerous Girl

**CHAPTER 23: VERY DANGEROUS GIRL**

"You're a bloody witch, I swear!" Anguy exclaims.

He's holding a pile of coin purses and jewelry in his arms. Treasures from Linette's latest heist. In the three weeks since she was taken by the Brotherhood, all they've done is roam the woods, occasionally ambush some Lannister soldiers, and make Linette steal. It isn't the worst outcome to being kidnapped, but she can't exactly say she enjoys it.

"That's the fourth trip we've gone on this week," she comments sourly from her spot on the bench in the back of the cart.

Anguy doesn't spare her a glance. He tosses one of the purses to Lem who's sitting across from them both.

"What's wrong with takin' so many trips?" he asks, grinning as he opens the coin purse. "Ain't no such thing as too much coin. Got too many mouths to feed for that."

Linette frowns. "Don't let greed sway you. I've stolen more than enough money; it will buy the Brotherhood meals for the next couple of months at least. I've done my part. Just let me go already."

"Why? My bow and arrow too keen for ya, lass? Tired of getting your ass kicked?" Anguy gives her a sharp-toothed grin.

"You have years experience on me," she rolls her eyes. "Besides, I'm getting better. In a few months time, I might be able to beat you."

Anguy snorts, "Keep dreamin', girl."

Linette shakes her head, barely managing to keep her smile down before she grows serious again. "Valiant effort to change the subject, Anguy, but tell me honestly. When can I leave?"

He busies himself with the coin purses, finding them very interesting all of a sudden. She nudges his shin with her boot to get his attention. The stare at each other for a moment.

"You wanna get away from me that bad?" he mumbles, feigning a hurt expression. "You wound me, thief. Thought we were close-like."

Her lips pull up just slightly. Anguy is probably the only thing she'd miss if she left. Him and Thoros. They've been an odd but welcome source of company for her over the last few weeks.

"I had a life before you lot kidnapped me," she says, thinking of a black horse and the scent of leather. "I'd like to get back to it."

"Back to that man of yours you mean."

Linette shoots Anguy a withering glance at the comment. She hasn't told him about Sandor, but he's seen how she wakes up in a worse mood than the one she'd gone to sleep with. Their conversation in the woods a fortnight ago didn't sway his assumptions either. He'd guessed it was a man, and she didn't correct him. She didn't want to lie. Not about Sandor.

"Well, he's lucky, whoever he is," Lem says, pulling her attention to him. His eyes roam down her form. His lips curl underneath his beard and Linette immediately glares at him.

"Shut the fuck up, ya twat." Anguy throws a heavy coin purse at the man. It hits him in the face with a satisfying thud.

"Shit!" Lem curses, rubbing his now tender cheekbone, "You didn't have to throw it so damn hard."

"You deserved it," Linette hisses at the perversion of a man. He shoots her a hate-filled gaze, still rubbing his face. She ignores him and turns back to Anguy.

"I want to talk to Thoros," she says, raising her chin authoritatively. The strength in her voice leaves no room for argument.

Anguy raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything. He waves his arm at the doors of the moving cart, beckoning her to go ahead. She grins and jumps out without another thought. She hears him grunt as his boots hit the dirt behind her, but she's already walking toward the front of the group, weaving between horses and soldiers. They don't pay her any attention as she passes.

It doesn't take her long to find Thoros. He's singing like always, his slurred voice carrying on the wind and through the trees.

" _And who are you, the proud lord said,_

 _That I must bow so low?_

 _Only a cat of a different coat,_

 _That's all the truth I-"_

"Thoros!" she calls, making him stop. He spins around and starts walking backward.

"Lass!" His eyes twinkle as he smiles brightly, spreading his arms wide, "What're you doing out of your cave?"

Linette shakes her head in amusement. The man never fails to put a smile on her face. She's sure it has something to do with the fact that he's almost always drunk. With a small smile on her lips, she falls into step beside him. He turns around and continues walking, moving his legs rhythmically, a clear sign that he's still singing the song in his head.

"How much rum have you had today?" she asks, momentarily forgetting what she'd come out here to talk about. He smirks down at her, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Not as much as I'd like."

She laughs, "You're a rare breed, Thoros."

"You flatter me, little lady," he swings his arm over her shoulders and begins singing again. He sways purposefully to the tune as they walk, making Linette laugh. She catches sight of Anguy on Thoros' other side. He's smirking. She sticks her tongue out at him before turning back to the inebriated ginger.

"Thoros, I really do need to talk to you about something."

He stops singing but continues to walk merrily. "What is it?"

"I want to know how much longer it'll be until I can leave."

"Seems our thief doesn't like us as much as we thought," Anguy pipes up with a teasing look.

"Is that true, lass?" Thoros asks, shaking her shoulders. "We too big of scoundrels for you?"

Linette laughs, "No. That's not it. I just want to get back to what I left. I have unfinished business to attend to."

"Little miss has a man waiting for her somewhere," Anguy says, giving Thoros a pointed look. The ginger looks surprised.

"You married?"

"No," Linette huffs, "but that doesn't matter. I just don't fancy being a prisoner anymore."

"I wouldn't call you a prisoner. More of a… a contained guest!"

"Well this _contained guest_ doesn't want to be contained anymore."

The men are quiet. Thoros lets his arm slip off her shoulders. He walks a little ahead of her, the dance in his step gone. Anguy gives her a look that she assumes is supposed to make her feel guilty, but she doesn't care. She rolls her eyes at him and hurries to walk beside Thoros again.

"Look, I don't mind stealing for your cause," she explains quickly, "I just don't want to do it forever. Can you just give me _something_. Anything. So I know when I'll be done."

"When the war is over."

Linette fumes, "Who knows when that'll be! It could be years! I don't want to spend my life here in the woods. I'm sorry! As much as I like you two, I don't want that."

"Tough," Thoros' voice is firm now, sounding very unlike his previous, jolly self. "We all make sacrifices for the good of others. There are some things greater than ourselves. Each of us has a part to play, and I happen to know that you play yours here. At least for now."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"The same way I knew I'd see you again," he eyes her mysteriously, "The Lord of Light revealed it to me."

Linette groans with a heavy roll of her eyes. "Don't give me that shit again."

"It's true, lass. Whether you believe it or not."

She quiets. There's no reason to argue with him. He won't back down, but neither will she. She chews on the inside of her cheek as they walk through the forest. There has to be something she can do to get herself out of this…

They've walked for a couple of minutes, the three of them side by side and the rest of the Brotherhood following behind, when Linette suddenly bursts forward to stop right in front of Thoros. He halts abruptly, trying not to run into her, and she faces him, her hands on her hips.

"I'll fight you," she challenges, the utmost conviction in her stormy eyes. "A fair fight. If I win, I can go. If I lose, I'll stay."

Thoros chuckles. So does everyone within hearing distance.

"You?" he laughs. "Don't think that would be a fair fight, lass."

She knows she's the furthest thing from intimidating, with her petite frame and silver hair. The mane of curls falls in wild ringlets down to her hips, making her seem more frail and feminine than she truly is. Right now, it's a blessing.

"Then what do you have to lose?" she goads him, widening her eyes innocently. He chuckles again.

"Alright. Draw your blade."

She does. Thoros' chuckles increase at the sight. He whips his cloak off, letting the dark fabric billow impressively in the air before tossing it to Anguy and brandishing his own sword. Men gather around, eager to watch the show. Excited murmurs echo off the trees.

"I'll go easy on you," he says, taking a small step forward. "Don't worry."

She resists rolling her eyes. "Are we starting?"

He grins. "Yes, lass, we're starting. Whenever you're r-"

Linette attacks him just like she would Sandor. Ferociously. With no inhibition. It's clear Thoros wasn't ready for her attack; he wasn't expecting her to be any good. She swipes her blade expertly. He manages to parry it but doesn't have enough time to ground his feet. He stumbles. It's enough for Linette to kick her foot out, catching his. He lands on one knee, and she seizes the advantage to slam the hilt of her sword into his forearm, throwing his sword out of his hand. It hits the dirt, clattering in the most satisfying way.

A deafening hush falls as the men's voices turn to murmurs, then awed silence. Thoros' wide, blue eyes stare up at her, shocked, as she points her blade at his throat.

"Surrender," she orders.

He shakes his head in disbelief. "Who taught you to fight?"

"Doesn't matter," Linette says, taking a step toward him, "Do you surrender?"

"Yes, lass, I surrender."

She lowers her blade. Thoros' gaze lingers on her for a moment before the silence of his defeat settles in. Every man is watching him, waiting to see what he will do. He abruptly clears his throat, dusting the dirt from his stole, and stands to slowly retrieve his sword from where it had fallen. The men's eyes follow him, but Linette's dance about the crowd, the woods, everywhere.

"I'm going then," she says, excitement rushing through her at the prospect of being free. "I need to get back to Dawros."

Thoros sighs. "You'll get where you need to be. Eventually."

Linette's gaze snaps to him, hardening to stone. Her hand tightens over the hilt of her sword as she grits her teeth. "What?"

"Told you already. You need to stay here. Y-"

" _Why_?!" Linette interrupts, equally confused as she is furious. Thoros continues like she hadn't spoken.

"Not just for us." He shakes his head with a finality that whites Linette's knuckles. "For you too. The Lord showed it to me."

"I don't give a _fuck_ what your Lord has shown you!" she snarls, " _You_ gave me your word!"

He nods solemnly, sheathing his sword. "I did. Add breaking it to the list of things I wouldn't have done before the war."

" _No_ ," she shakes her head and backs away from the group of men like a cornered animal. "I'm _leaving_. You told me I could! You can spout your nonsense about war changing a man until you actually start to believe it, perhaps you already do, but _I_ know that war only changes _weak_ men. If you're too cowardly to hold onto what's right, then you're _weak_ , and I refuse to let you give me orders."

Thoros sighs. His eyes hold something close to hurt before he turns around, waving a hand in the air. Linette scowls. She holds her sword up in anticipation for whatever that signal brings, but she's too slow. An arrow flies through the air, piercing her cloak right above where her shoulder meets her neck, just barely missing her skin and pinning her tunic to the tree behind her. She's stuck. She reaches up quickly, trying to free herself, but the men are already upon her. Two grab hold of her arms while another yanks the arrow out.

"Fuck you!" she screams at all of them as her sword is knocked out of her hand. She throws one ferocious kick after another, landing quite a few, but it only earns her rougher hands. Someone grabs a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back and making her hiss in pain. Through a gap between two men's shoulders, she sees Gatins pick her sword out of the dirt and inspect the steel. He runs his grimy fingers over the red leather, then grins purposefully at her as he slides the blade into his own scabbard.

"You _son of a_ _BITCH_!" she screams. Seeing Sandor's blade in that disgusting man's hands sends fury coursing through her. A growl passes her lips as Lem appears in front of her. He grabs her wrists and ties them together tightly. She fights against him, rage coursing through her.

"Keep fighting, girl." He leans close to her until their chests touch, forcing her back to press flush up against the man behind her. His lips curls lecherously. "It's only making this more fun for me."

She spits right in his face. He clenches his jaw in pure fury. Anger simmers in his eyes. His hands fist, and Linette tenses with steel in her gaze, ready to take the hit.

"Back the fuck up, Lem!" Anguy's voice sounds before Lem is forcefully yanked away. She sees the yellow-cloaked man glare at her before he sulks off toward the cart, Gatins following after him.

"You're walking with me, thief," Anguy takes hold of the back of her cloak. The other mens' hands release her as he hauls her up to the front of the group. "Don't trust those fuckers right now."

"Gatins took my sword." She spits out, her neck craning in an attempt to keep the lumbering, bald man in her sight.

"I don't give a shit," Anguy yanks her forward roughly, and she has to turn away from Gatins to watch her footing. Anguy doesn't seem to notice her struggle. That or he just doesn't care. His dark hair falls into his eyes as he shakes his head in irritation. "You should've thought about that before you went and did something so stupid. Don't know how you keep… why can't you just…"

Linette doesn't listen to anything he's saying. She lets him mumble as he pulls her to walk behind Thoros who's once again leading. He's humming again. The sound sets Linette's blood simmering. How dare he? She won her freedom in a fair fight, one he chooses to _ignore,_ and now he has the gaul to hum?

"He lied to me," Linette hisses, glaring up at Anguy, "and you shot an arrow at me."

He doesn't say anything but at least has the decency to look apologetic. His vice-like grip on her cloak loosens. With a sigh, he gently takes hold of her elbow instead.

They walk leisurely through the forest. Well, Thoros and Anguy do. Linette is seething. Her jaw hurts from clenching it so tightly, but she doesn't let up. It only worsens when Thoros starts singing again.

" _In a coat of gold or a coat of red,_

 _A lion still has claws..."_

A feather-light touch falls on Linette's shoulder. Her anger still raging, she spins around, ready to scream obscenities at whoever's there, but she sees no one. Just the woods. She frowns. Her feet still as she frowns at the empty space. Anguy gives her a funny look and pulls her forward again. She stumbles along in confusion. Perhaps she imagined the feeling...

" _And mine are long and sharp, my lord,"_ Thoros' singing rings out louder, " _As long and sharp as yours."_

There it is again. Linette feels the heat of someone's hand on her arm, the one Anguy isn't holding. She stares at the spot intensely as she walks. Something is _definitely_ touching her, but she doesn't see anyone. Perhaps she really is going crazy…

" _And so he spoke, and so he spoke,"_ Thoros swings his head back-and-forth as he walks, " _That lord of-"_

Anguy suddenly lets go of Linette's arm. She tears her eyes away from the phantom touch to see the archer notch an arrow and let it fly in the direction of what clearly used to be a stone wall. It's just ruins now. Thoros stops singing and the men stop walking. They all turn curiously to the archer.

"What's lurking behind that wall?" Anguy calls, stalking steadily toward it, "A lion? A wolf?"

"Just a dirty, little whore!" Gatins cackles. Linette turns to glare at him.

"Loose a few more shafts," Morgan grins and nudges Gatins with his elbow.

The warmth on Linette's arm disappears. Cold is left in its absence. Disappointed and now irritated with all the idiots around her, she opens her mouth to let loose a string of insults that would make Sandor proud, but a young, feminine voice calls out from behind the wall.

"Don't!"

Linette's mouth snaps shut. She turns toward the voice to see Thoros and Anguy walking up to the wall. They peer over the edge at something below. One of the men grabs Linette's arm and pulls her up to them. She stumbles but reaches the edge of the wall to see a girl no older than thirteen, her dark hair cropped unevenly, just brushing her ears. She wears boy's clothes that hang off her and a hard glint in her brown eyes. A blade is held in her hand defensively.

Linette is impressed.

Thoros eyes the girl for a second before drinking from his flask.

"Put the sword down girl," he says gently, like he's trying to coax a small kitten. Linette rolls her eyes at the voice. The girl almost does too. She narrows her eyes, raising her sword higher.

"You go on down the road," she orders with a tone of authority, jerking her chin in the direction. "Just keep on singing so we know where you are. Leave us be, and I won't kill you."

The men laugh. Linette frowns, wondering why the girl said 'we'.

"Generous," Anguy teases with a grin.

"You're a dangerous person," Thoros says, highly amused. "I like dangerous people. But why are your friends so shy?"

"What friends?" the girl says. She sounds strong, but the small shuffle of her feet gives her away. Linette sighs.

Anguy jerks his head toward the taller part of the wall. "The fat one to your left and the lad beside him."

There's a moment of silence. The girl looks to her left nervously. Someone sighs loudly before a well-built, dark haired man and a heavy-set teen emerge from the wall. The tall one pulls the fat one by the collar of his shirt. They move to flank the girl on either side, wielding their swords warily. Linette feels a strange pride swell in her chest at the sight, but it disappears when she's roughly yanked forward.

Thoros and Anguy jump down beyond the wall. Four other men follow, but Linette is led to the edge where Thoros had just been. She looks down to see the trio facing off to Thoros bravely. Well, the girl and the dark haired one are. The chubby one's fear is easy to see. His sword hand shakes.

Thoros smirks as he casually takes a step toward them.

"Three young ones on the run, carrying castle forged swords," he says, looking pointedly at their blades before each of them in turn. "You escape Harrenhal?"

"Who are you?" the girl asks without an ounce of regard to the question Thoros asked. Linette smirks and so does the ginger. He bows a little at the waist.

"Thoros of Myr," he introduces himself before gesturing behind him, "and the fellow with the bow is Anguy."

The girl shakes her head. "No. Who do you fight for?"

"The Brotherhood Without Banners," Thoros declares with another step forward. The children hesitate, fear in each of their eyes. Thoros looks amused for half a second before he gives them an admonishing look. "Now come along. I want to hear how two boys and a very dangerous girl escaped Harrenhal."

"I'm not going with them!" the chubby boy exclaims, looking even more nervous than before. "They're the Brotherhood! That's who the Mountain and them all were looking for. They'll bring us back and put rats in us!"

Linette snorts at how absurd that sounds. She sees Anguy roll his eyes.

Thoros takes another step forward. "You've got nothing to fear from us, son. The Lords of Westeros want to burn the countryside, but we're trying to save it. Now come on. We'll talk some more over brown bread and stew. Then you can go on your way."

"Yeah right…" Linette growls under her breath.

The trio doesn't seem to believe him either. The heavy one backs up while the other two lift their swords higher. Thoros raises his brow at them, giving them another chance, but when they don't make any move to comply, he looks back at Anguy. The archer smirks and walks forward, notching an arrow. The trio tenses.

"Here's the thing, fatboy," Anguy says, aiming his bow to the sky before releasing the bolt. It whistles as it sails above the trees. The trio look up frantically, trying to find it. Anguy smirks and leans on his bow. "When I'm done talking, that arrow is falling down on your fathead. So, I advise you move, because _now_. I'm done talking."

The heavy-set boy's eyes widen before he scuttles out of the way, toward the other two. Anguy's arrow falls not even a second later, piercing the dirt right where the kid had been standing. All three stare at Anguy with wide eyes. Thoros chuckles a little before gesturing for them to walk ahead of him. They hesitate for only a second before clamoring up the ruins and through the brush.

"Get off me," Linette yanks her arm out of her captor's hold. He chuckles as she hurries up the embankment.

"Girl!" she calls out, "Wait a second!"

The girl turns around, her brown eyes wide, but she calms when she sees Linette rushing toward her, hands bound.

"Who are you?" she asks warily.

"Linette. I'm not with the Brotherhood," she adds the last part, remembering the girl questioning Thoros earlier. She shakes her head, "Well, I am, technically, but not of my own choice."

She raises her hands to show her restraints more clearly.

"I see," the girl says, her face hardening.

"Why you tied up?" The chubby boy pops up beside the girl. She elbows him in the side for his lack of tact.

"I tried to escape," Linette grins crookedly, not at all bothered, "They're making me steal for them. I challenged Thoros to a duel for my freedom, and I won, but he went back on his word. Won't let me leave."

The boy's eyes widen fearfully, "Think he'll go back on his word now, too?"

"Shut up, Hot Pie," the dark-haired boy shakes his head.

"What?" the tubby kid asks, looking confused.

"It's a valid question, Gendry," the girl whispers. She nervously watches the men as they walk around.

"Don't worry," Linette says quietly, knowing where the girl's mind has gone, "They won't do anything. Most of them at least..."

She catches sight of Lem and his group. They're huddled by the cart. Lem glares at her as they pass. Gatins grins and pushes his coat open to show off the red hilt of her sword sticking out of his scabbard.

"Watch out for those assholes," Linette hisses to the girl, fixing the men with a fierce glare.

The Brotherhood walk through the wood for a while. Linette sticks close to the kids. Well, she assumes they're kids. All except the dark haired one. Gendry. He's probably around her age. Even still, Linette doesn't want to leave them. Something is telling her not to. Especially the girl.

"What's your name?" she asks suddenly, looking at the girl. She's only a couple inches shorter than Linette, but her big eyes and even bigger clothes make it seem like more.

"Arry."

Her voice is flat. Linette knows a lie when she hears one, but she doesn't say anything. The biggest difference between children and adults is that children only lie to protect themselves.

"Alright, Arry," she nods once at the girl, accepting her lie for the moment, before turning to the boys. "Gendry, Hot Pie. Mind if I stick with you tonight?"

"Tonight? I thought we were going to get food?" Hot Pie's voice gets higher and higher as he speaks.

Linette nods. "We will. The sun is setting though. The Brotherhood doesn't travel at night. Our numbers are too large not be heard, and the last thing we want is an ambush. We'll camp here, then go to a town in the morning. It's what we always do. Thoros likes to start his rum early."

Gendry snickers, "He sounds alright to me."

Linette shares a smile with him before turning back to Hot Pie.

"Don't worry," she says, "Thoros has no reason to keep you. He'll let you leave. I'll make sure of it."


	24. The Hound's Thief

**CHAPTER 24: THE HOUND'S THIEF**

"You were a smith?" Linette asks, her eyes brightening in the light of the campfire. Night has finally fallen. The small group sits not far from the rest of the Brotherhood, their campfire and the mass of men easily seen through the trees.

"I was," Gendry nods proudly, "Apprenticed in King's Landing under Tobho Mott."

"You must be fantastic…" Linette whispers, utterly marveled.

"He is," Arry smirks over the roasted squirrel she's holding.

Gendry smiles warmly at the girl. He's a handsome sort. Dark hair and light eyes with a strong jaw and even stronger arms. Linette can see why Arry is clearly smitten with him. It's obvious. A girlhood crush isn't difficult to spot.

"My father was a smith," Linette says, "He wasn't near as good as Tobho Mott, but his swords served House Stark well enough. I wanted to be a smith like him when I was grown."

"Your father was smith for House Stark?" Arry sits up straighter, looking intrigued.

"Used to be at Winterfell," Linette nods proudly, "but he moved off to Grey Motte when I was born. I never asked why we left, but Lord Stark swore by my father's swords. Had him make blades for all his sons. I helped make the one for Jon Snow's thirteenth nameday."

Arry's mouth hangs open. Linette smiles happily as the young girl mumbles to herself, shaking her head.

"Do you still want to be a smith?" Hot Pie asks, pulling Linette's gaze from Arry.

"Yes," she nods with a small smile, "I do."

Gendry licks his fingers clean before holding his hand out to her. "Well, when I open my own smith, I'll be sure to call on you. We'll make swords for all sorts. Not just the noble folk."

Linette beams and takes his hand into hers. It's a little difficult with the ropes around her wrists, but she manages to give him a firm handshake.

"What a tender moment," Anguy drawls sweetly from Linette's side. He's sat on the ground by her feet, his legs sprawled out in front of him leisurely despite the fact that he's still on guard duty. Linette kicks him swiftly in the shin. He chuckles.

"What about you, Hot Pie?" she turns to the tubby youth who's currently on his third squirrel. Much to Anguy's irritation. He'd had to hunt twice as long just to make up for all the kid was eating.

"I-I don't know," Hot Pie says, looking at the ground, "I'm not really good at much…"

"That's not true!" Arry jumps in immediately to defend him from himself. She gives him an incredulous look. "You're a wonderful baker! Everyone in King's Landing thought so."

Hot Pie blushes. He ducks his head so his curls hide his face. Linette chuckles lightly to herself.

"How 'bout you, little miss?" Anguy asks abruptly, startling the other four in the group. He hasn't talked much other than to poke fun at whatever it is the others are discussing. Linette is skeptical of his sudden interest in Arry.

"What're you doin'?" He sits up to lean toward the young girl, a curious look on his face. "Dressed up like a boy and runnin' around with a sword. Ain't many girls I know who'd fancy playing soldier."

Arry chews slowly before swallowing.

"I'm not playing," she says.

Anguy laughs, "Ohh! You're not? Think yourself a proper soldier then, do ya?"

"Anyone who's done battle and survived is a proper soldier."

"And who exactly have you battled? A rabbit?"

Arry's eyes narrow, but she doesn't answer. Hot Pie and Gendry share a nervous look, one that raises Linette's brow. She's even more curious about the trio than she was before.

Anguy continues to laugh. "Doubt you'd even be able to look your opponent in the eye."

"She looked _you_ in the eye," Linette points out quickly, irritated with the archer's dismissive tone. "Stood her ground when you and Thoros cornered her in the woods like a couple of brutes."

"Aye," Gendry agrees, "Faced down tougher men, too. Looked the Mountain right in his ugly face."

Anguy looks at the girl, surprised. He leans forward into the firelight. "You've seen Tywin Lannister's Mad Dog, and he didn't hack off your limbs?"

Arry shares a quick look with Gendry before turning to Anguy.

"That's right," she nods, straightening her shoulders.

Anguy's face is blank for a second before he lets out a burst of laughter. Linette rolls her eyes. The trio frown as the archer continues to chuckle, leaning back against the log behind him.

"Beggin' your pardon, but I don't believe you," he gives Arry a stern look. "It don't sound like any Clegane I know."

Linette perks up immediately, unable to stop the way her heart stutters to life. "Clegane?"

"Aye," Anguy nods, crossing his arms over his chest. "Two of 'em. Brothers. Big fuckers with tempers to match. Been guards for the Lannisters for years now."

"You've never heard of 'em?" Hot Pie is shocked. He stops eating to stare at Linette who swallows nervously.

"I've heard of them…" she nods slowly. Hot Pie seems relieved. He returns to his roasted squirrel. Arry and Gendry both give her odd looks, but when she doesn't say anything, soon turn back to their food, whispering to each other. Linette breathes a small sigh of relief, but she feels eyes on her. She turns to see Anguy's dark eyes scrutinizing her.

"What?" she asks, uncomfortable under his hawk-eyed gaze.

"Which Clegane do you know?" he asks.

Linette's gut lurches. "Who said I knew them?"

"You're acting awful shifty not to…" Anguy's dark eyes narrow suspiciously, "You're not a spy, are you?"

"What?" Linette frowns, completely caught off guard.

"A spy," Anguy spits and leans toward her. Gone is his friendly demeanor, replaced by the cold, tactical man she knew he could be but had never seen. She leans back as he invades her personal space. He watches her for a moment before he runs his tongue slowly over his teeth. "If there were a list of people the Cleganes have hurt, it'd cover every border of Westeros. They'd all tell you about it too. How the Hound or the Mountain killed their ma, their pa, or their kid. The only reason you _wouldn't_ talk about 'em is 'cus you're friendly with 'em. That's not a good place to be."

Linette's heart races. She looks everywhere other than Anguy, trying to find a way out of this interrogation. He roughly grabs her bound wrists, yanking them to make her look at him.

"Tell me right now, girl," he hisses, "You workin' with them? The fat boy says the Mountain's lookin' for us. Are you his spy?"

Linette shakes her head furiously, "No! I wouldn't do-"

"I like you, I really do," Anguy interrupts, "but that's not gonna stop me from killing you if you're a danger to everyone here. You tell me _exactly_ why you know the Cleganes, or I'll march you over to Thoros and we'll all have a proper chat."

Linette's mouth hangs open. Anguy clenches his jaw.

"Fine," he says, beginning to stand up, "Let's go then."

"No! Wait!" Linette yanks her hands down, pulling the archer with them. He lands back on the ground in front of her. He waves his hand in the air impatiently.

"Go on, thief. Better fucking talk fast."

Linette hesitates for one second, making sure the others aren't listening, before leaning close to Anguy.

"Sandor," she whispers hurriedly, ignoring the pain in her chest when she says his name. "I was friends with Sandor. We travelled together for a while. That's it. I'm not a spy."

Anguy's face goes blank. "... T-the Hound? You were _friends_ with the Hound?"

Linette nods, "Yes. I was his thief before you lot took me."

A rough burst of laughter escapes the archer. His eyes twinkle with amusement.

"We took the Hound's thief," he marvels, chuckling to himself for a moment. Linette rolls her eyes but grows wary when Anguy suddenly looks up at her, amusement gone. His eyes are wide with some revelation. The sight makes Linette nervous. She shuffles uncomfortably on the log.

"That man of yours…" he says, "the one you want to get back to so badly… it's _him_. Isn't it, thief?"

Linette freezes. She doesn't know why, but she knows it would be a bad idea to go admitting that to anyone. Yet her silence seems to be enough proof for Anguy. He laughs joyously, releasing her wrists as he falls down into the dirt again. Shaking his head, he leans back against the log, his eyes dancing as he runs a hand over the scruff on his face.

"This is fuckin' fantastic," he laughs, "Got the Hound's girl..."

"Would you shut up?!" Linette comes to her senses to snap at him. A sharp pain radiates in her chest at his words. He raises his hands up in surrender but continues to laugh.

"Bet the old dog's lookin' for ya. That is if he wants to get back to you as much as you do him."

Linette grits her teeth. She knows he doesn't. She won't say it though. Who cares what Anguy thinks anyway?

She tears her eyes away from the archer with a huff. She's ready to seethe quietly for the rest of the night but catches sight of Gendry and Hot Pie. They're eating pleasantly, speaking cordially to one another, but the space beside Gendry is dark and empty. Her heart sinks.

"Where's Arry?" she demands, shooting into a sitting position. Her eyes scan the area quickly, but she sees nothing other than the three men and the darkness around them.

"Said she had to piss," Gendry says with a shrug of his shoulders.

"You let her go alone?"

"She can handle herself," Hot Pie murmurs through a mouthful of squirrel. "Got her blade with her."

That doesn't placate Linette. She has a bad feeling deep in her gut. Her stomach twists in knots, her eyes unable to still from scanning the dark forest around her. She's had the feeling since before the sun even set.

"I'm going to find her," she states and pushes herself to stand. "Which way did she go?"

Gendry rolls his eyes but points off in the opposite direction of where the rest of the Brotherhood sits, toward the blackest part of the forest. Linette nods in thanks. She starts to walk that way, but Anguy catches her arm.

"Don't try to run," he warns for what has to be the thousandth time since she's met him. She rolls her eyes.

"I know." She rips her arm out of his grip and holds her bound wrists up for him to see. "Wouldn't make it far anyway."

Anguy grins wide. "Good. Hurry back then, thief."

With another roll of her eyes, Linette heads into the woods. It takes a while for her eyes to adjust to the darkness outside the circle of the campfire, but she walks quickly through the trees anyway. Something is gnawing at her gut. She pushes herself to walk faster, her head swiveling left to right in search of the feisty, younger girl.

She's been walking for a few minutes, even doubled back a couple of times, when she hears voices. It's almost too hard to hear. Sounds travel long and faded this deep in the forest, but she's been travelling long enough to know when she hears men's voices. Her heart lurches when she recognizes it. She sprints in that direction, ducking under leaves and leaping over fallen branches until she can hear the men clearly.

"Walk away and I promise I won't kill you."

"Aw, the little miss has a sword!"

Linette grits her teeth at the sound of Morgan's obnoxious, drunk voice. She catches sight of him through the trees. He's holding a wineskin, of course he is, and so are the other men with him: Lem, Gatins, and two others she recognizes but doesn't know the names of. Lem is laughing, leaning on one of the no-names to keep himself from falling over. Arry stands defensively a few feet away from the group, her sword in her hand and a dangerous look in her eye.

"Yes," she nods, her face set hard, "and I won't hesitate to put it through you."

Gatins cackles, "I'd like to put something through you, and it ain't a sword."

"Yes, it is!" The other no name laughs at his own innuendo. The other men join in. Arry's jaw clenches. She holds her sword up higher.

"Come on girl," Lem slurs, stumbling toward Arry. "Make it easier on yourself. We just want some fun. Think we deserve it after protecting this god forsaken land for who knows how fucking long."

"You don't deserve _anything_ ," Arry snarls.

Linette's heart races, thumping painfully in her chest. She's glad she went after the girl, but now they're both in over their heads. Linette can't help her, not outnumbered and unarmed with her hands tied. She turns around to go back and get Anguy, Thoros, all of them, but the sound of steel being unsheathed makes her stop. She whips back around, an awful, sinking feeling in her chest. The men have their swords out now too.

"Come on lads," Gatins laughs, brandishing Linette's own sword. The red-leather hilt gleams in the moonlight. "Let's show the lady how to use a sword properly."

Linette can't leave now. It'll be too late by the time she gets back. Thinking quickly, she does the only thing that might get them out of this.

She screams. As loud as she can.

The men spin around wildly, moonlight gleaming off their wide, glazed eyes as they look for the source of the horrible sound which only gets louder as it echoes off the trees, shrill and alarming. Even though the men are sufficiently distracted, Linette doesn't stop screaming. She needs to make sure the others hear her. They'll come then.

"The fuck is that?!" one of the no-names yells over her screeching.

"Does it _look_ like I fucking know?!" Lem snarls, waving his sword in the direction of the noise. "Go find out!"

Gatins and another man take off toward Linette, giving her the opportunity she needs. She stops yelling and rushes toward Arry. Gatins sees her as she passes. He tries to grab her arm, but she dodges it and manages to make it to Arry's side.

"Cut me loose," she orders urgently. The girl's eyes are wide with fear and surprise, but she doesn't hesitate to cut the ropes from Linette's wrists. As soon as the woman is free, she takes the sword from Arry's hands and pushes the girl behind her.

Gatins and the other man come out of the woods to join the others. Lem leers at the sight of Linette. She glares right back.

"Run," she shoves Arry back without taking her eyes off the men.

"But I-"

" _No_ ," Linette stops her and shoves her again, " _Run_. Go get the others. Lead them back."

Linette can't see Arry, but she hears the sound of quick feet on the leaves. One of the no-names moves to follow after the girl, but Linette moves to stand in his way with a snarl. He stops moving. A twisted smirk appears on his lips.

"Hello, girl," Lem greets her sweetly from her left. Her eyes narrow as she shuffles to put him in her line of sight. He smiles and saunters toward her, his sword in one hand and a wineskin in the other. "I'm so glad you're here."

Morgan cackles in agreement. "Got the better trade, didn't we? Rather have the bitch than the pup."

"You're not _having_ shit," Linette hisses. A high-pitched buzzing fills her ears, mixing in with the sound of her heart pounding.

The men laugh.

"We'll see about that," the no-name closest to her says before charging at her.

He's clumsy. Drunk. It doesn't take much effort to cut him down. He lands in the tall grass, blood seeping out of the deep wound Linette carved into his side.

"You bitch!" the other no-name rushes her, Morgan on his heels.

The two men try to bring their swords down on her, but she's too quick for it. Every swipe of their blade is met with one of her own. She glides between them as they attack, eventually sinking her blade deep between two vertebrae of the no-name's back. He gurgles, blood pooling in his mouth as he sinks to his knees.

Linette tries to yank her sword out of his back, but it won't budge. She tries again, but a hot hand on her shoulders suddenly pushes her to the ground, just in time to miss the slice of Morgan's sword. She feels the blade's breeze above her, sees it rushing toward the man with her sword still in his back, before it cuts the man's head clean off his neck. His body falls chest-down in the dirt. Blood splatter hits Linette's cheek, yet she doesn't react. All she can think is that it could've been her, _should've_ been her if it hadn't been for whoever had pushed her. She breathes hard, eyes wide as she looks around for her savior.

She sees no one.

"Stop fucking moving!"

Morgan's yell has her snapping her head back to him. He comes at her again.

The phantom hand is on her arm now, strong and urgent as it hauls her to her feet, but she still doesn't see anyone. It's just like before, in the woods after fighting Thoros. She doesn't have time to think about it though. Now on her feet, she puts a foot to the decapitated man's back and rips her sword out. Breathing hard, Linette turns to see Gatins and Lem approaching from behind Morgan. The sight sends a spark of fear through her; she's outnumbered, but she focuses on Morgan. One problem at a time.

His blade comes after her again. He's a clumsy fighter, but he's strong. One of his blows could easily cut her in half. She's careful to stay out of range, dancing around him as he swings madly at her, his blade flashing in the moonlight.

She just manages to nick him in the leg when a massive force rams into her from behind. It knocks the wind out of her. She lands clumsily in the dirt but manages to hold onto her sword. Knowing someone is behind her, she spins around, landing hard on her ass, and holds her sword up. It immediately catches Lem's sword as he swings it down.

The yellow-coated man is standing above her, his breaths coming out in angry puffs of hot air, his nose flaring.

"Think you can spit at me, attack me, and get away with it?!" he snarls.

His eyes flash as he swings at her again. She deflects it, but the force and angle of his blow sends a pain ripping in her shoulder. He attacks over and over again from above. Their blades clash over Linette's head. She knows she needs to stand, but she can't. She has to use two hands to counter his strength. He grunts and pushes down harder, earning a few inches, but not enough.

Without warning, he lifts his knee and rams it into Linette's face. She tastes blood immediately. Her body flies backward at the force. She lands on her back, but immediately rolls to the left. Lem's blade sinks into the dirt right where she'd been. Blood drips from her nose as she stands.

Her eyes are entirely focused on Lem that she doesn't notice Gatins come up behind her. He fists his hand in her hair and throws her face first into a tree. She feels her nose crack.

With a cry of pain, she throws her elbow backward as hard as she can. It hits Gatins in the gut. He groans loudly, and the hand in her hair disappears. She doesn't hesitate to spin around and sink her blade straight through the bald man's shoulder, ripping through muscle and bone. He screams when she yanks it back out. Blood drips on the groups as he hurries to back away, just quick enough to avoid her next blow, aimed at his heart.

"I'm going to _KILL_ _you_!" Lem snarls, murder in his eyes. He shoves a moaning Gatins out of his way and stalks toward her. "Then I'll _fuck_ you while you're still warm, cut your head from your pretty neck, and fuck you again! Stupid CUNT!"

Linette spits blood in the dirt, glaring heavily at the man. She holds the hilt of her sword down by her hip, ready for a fight. Morgan appears beside Lem, looking almost as furious as his yellow-coated friend. They advance on her, their swords held tightly.

Linette is about to charge them when an arrow whizzes past the men's faces and sinks into a nearby tree. They all freeze.

"BACK THE _FUCK_ UP!" Anguy's booming, livid voice shakes the darkness.

Deep voices are suddenly shouting orders as a horde of armed men emerges from the trees. Linette breathes a sigh of relief. She doesn't think she's been so happy to see The Brotherhood before. Thoros appears at the head of them all. He spares her a glance, his jaw clenching, before he turns to Lem and his idiots.

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you where you stand!" he snarls, stomping up to them with a righteous fury.

Lem looks offended. "Us?! What about the bitch?"

He turns his furious gaze on Linette. The phantom hand appears on her arm again, hot and constant, like it's ready to pull her out of Lem's way if he comes at her again. It feels as if someone is standing next to her, but all there is is empty space and shadows. With a shaking hand, Linette reaches toward it.

"She was defending me and herself from you!" Arry's sharp voice suddenly yells out. The girl appears from the shadows, a hard glint in her eyes as she marches to Linette's side. The blonde's hand drops. The touch on her arm disappears too although she still feels the presence beside her. She turns away from it to focus on Arry, glad to see the girl unharmed. She quietly mumbles a thank you and passes the girl's blood-coated sword back.

"What happened?" Thoros turns to direct the question at Arry and Linette.

"I went to take a piss when they cornered me," the girl explains with a hard look. "Linette found us. She told me to run and get help. I left her my sword, but she probably wouldn't have needed it to take down this lot."

Linette smiles when Lem growls angrily.

"That true?" Thoros asks the blonde woman. She takes a second to spit the blood out of her mouth before answering.

"Yes," she nods. "Said they were going to kill me, fuck me, cut off my head, and do it again."

Thoros' usually merry eyes darken. He turns his back on her to advance on the wounded men.

"The Brotherhood protects the weak!" he yells. Linette frowns at the word 'weak', but Thoros is too busy ripping into the men to notice. "We stand for good and justice in this world. What you have done goes against everything we believe!"

"I'm _done_ doing that shit with no reward," Lem spits at Thoros before turning his angry eyes on the rest of the men. "Aren't you!? We fight and live in these damned woods without pay. No coin. No food. Not so much as a poke!"

Linette grits her teeth. Arry's hand clenches over the hilt of her sword. The invisible presence is beside her now, standing between her and Arry. Although Linette is quite sure she's going insane, the unknown presence feels like a protector, a shield. It fills her with a sense of courage, and she stands just a little taller.

"I'm leaving," Lem declares suddenly, tearing his gaze away from the men to glare at Thoros. "I won't be ordered around by some high priest or his fucking _Lord_ anymore."

He turns angrily on his heel and begins to walk away.

"Anyone who agrees with me can come along," he yells over his shoulder before disappearing into the darkness.

The forest is silent as the men eye each other. Thoros raises his brow and holds his arm out in the direction Lem went, daring anyone to follow. Three or four men do. Morgan and Gatins too, Gatins with Linette's sword. It isn't a large group, but clearly more than Thoros expected. He shakes his head in disbelief when they're gone.

The buzzing in Linette's ears from before slowly begins again. She winces at the high-pitched sound. It grows for a moment, then everything is silent again. The phantom presence beside her disappears with it. She looks around, trying to find it again, but all she sees is the empty space around her, somehow emptier than before despite looking the exact same.

"Here," Anguy suddenly appears by Linette's side. She ignores the empty feeling in her chest to turn toward him. He holds a cloth out to her and she takes it, pressing it to her nose. She winces at the pain.

"Looks like shit," the archer says.

"Probably broken," Arry nods, cleaning her sword off on the grass.

"Let me see." Anguy pulls Linette's arm down and lifts her chin with his fingers. He pokes at her nose with his other hand.

"Shit!" she hisses when he touches the tender skin around her eye. "Can you be more gentle?!"

"Yes." He grins cheekily then moves to touch her nose with both hands. "The girl was right. It's broken. You're gonna need it reset. It'll just take a-"

Linette curses loudly as the bone in her nose is popped back in place without warning. Tears fill her eyes and she lashes out, punching Anguy firmly in the gut. He doubles over. She stumbles away holding her throbbing face while Anguy coughs into the dirt.

"I like you," Arry says to Linette with a smirk. The blonde smiles through the tears in her eyes.

"I like you too."


	25. Dog Catchers

**CHAPTER 25: DOG CATCHERS**

Night has come and gone much quieter than Lem's group had hours before. A sense of uneasiness seemed to make home in the minds of the remaining Brotherhood members. Most are quiet as they shuffle through camp, going about their business with a level of alertness uncommon for such a rowdy bunch of outlaws, and Anguy is no expection.

He's sat around the fire he had been the night previous. All that remains is a pile of dark soot. He digs the toe of his already dirty boot into the ash as he thinks, a deep groove appearing between his brows.

What he wouldn't give to hunt Lem and his bastards down. They made fools of the entire Brotherhood, perversing their cause and carrying on as if no one would notice. But that's what really gets him. That no one noticed. _He_ didn't notice until it was almost too late. What kind of archer is he if he can't even see what's right in front of him?

A sharp nudge to his arm pulls his scowl from the ash before him. He raises his head to see Linette staring back at him, her head tilted to the side in a curious manner that reminds him of the way his father's curs used to.

"What's got you thinking so hard?" she asks. The teasing in her voice almost makes him smile, but one look at her face and he's reminded of the other reason that he wants to put an arrow so far up Lem's ass that his innards come out his mouth.

"That hurt much?" he asks roughly, jutting his chin toward the angry bruises that cover her face. The dark blues and purples stick out offensively against the light color of her swollen skin. She shrugs indifferently at his question.

"As much as you probably think it does." She spares him a smile that he doesn't return before nudging him with her elbow again. "Don't frown so much, Anguy. It ages you."

He snorts. It's the closest thing to a laugh she'll get from him, but she seems satisfied by it.

"Thank you, by the way," she says, "for being there to fight with me when I needed you."

"For saving you, you mean?"

Her lips twitch. "No. A few more rounds and I would've had them begging."

He opens his mouth to disagree vehemently, but Gendry butts in from his spot on the other side of Linette.

"Everyone knows a swordman's worth at least three archers."

Anguy glares half-heartedly at the boy. "And archers are worth twice as much as smiths. Especially Tobho Mott's eunuch."

Gendry's mouth falls open. Linette splutters with laughter, wincing a little at the action's tug on her skin. Anguy and Gendry watch her with concern, but she makes no mention of discomfort and quickly engages Gendry in some discussion concerning smelting. Anguy tunes out their voices almost immediately, so when Thoros comes and taps him on the shoudler, he's quick to hide his embarrassment at the way he startles. The priest barely manages to hide a grin.

"Talk to you for a minute?" he asks.

Anguy quirks a brow in question, but Thoros turns and walks away without another word, clearly expecting Anguy to follow. He supposes it's something meant for only his ears, or just not for his company at the moment.

"Don't kill anyone while I'm gone, thief," he says to the silver haired woman beside him. She gives him a sour look which makes him chuckle. She's a hellion, that one. All ice-beauty and fire, even with her face bruised and swollen the way it is.

"I'll do my best," she replies, turning to Gendry to continue their debate on smithing techniques. It's an utterly useless topic to Anguy but apparently fascinating to the younger two. He ruffles Linette's hair fondly before standing and heading off in the direction Thoros disappeared in. The morning sun is just rising and the camp with it. Men are packing up the horses, something Anguy is exceedingly glad he doesn't have to do right now. He'd much rather guard the girl.

He finds Thoros at the edge of camp. The ginger stands looking out on the forest with a sharp gaze. Anguy's first instinct is to assume there's something wrong. His dark eyes scan the trees quickly for any sign of danger.

"What do you need, Thoros?" he asks, one hand on the strap holding his bow.

"We can't let them just walk away," Thoros says with a sigh. His fingers rest leisurely on the hilt of his sword, but the pinch between his brow shows he's anything but relaxed.

Anguy frowns. "Let who walk away?"

"Lem."

The archer nods in understanding. Knowing there's no present danger, he relaxes as he turns his gaze from the trees. "Isn't it a little late for that? They've been gone for hours. Could be across The Trident by now."

"I know." Thoros sighs again. He turns away from the forest to look at Anguy. "I wanted to give them a chance to sober up. Thought they might come back…"

"I don't want 'em back," Anguy shakes his head roughly.

Thoros smirks. "Me either."

The ginger's eyes drift to the camp and the headful of long, silver curls on the other side.

"She doing alright?" he asks, worry and anger intermixing in his wise, blue eyes.

Anguy follows his leader's line of sight. He smiles proudly. "Actin' like nothin' even happened. Still practicin' with my bow, annoyin' the shit out of me…" he shakes his head, "If half the men in camp had balls like hers, this war would be over by Tuesday."

Thoros nods in agreement. "Aye. Her and the little one. Quite a pair."

Anguy's smirk widens. He remembers what Linette told him yesterday about her and the Hound. She may not have said it outright, but it's obvious that she and the dog were more than friends. Her pretty little blush said as much. The thought of the Hound with any woman amuses Anguy, but he supposes if anyone were to put a leash on the dog it would be someone like her. Kind hearted and honest, but fierce as fire and strong as steel.

"So," Anguy turns away from the girl to Thoros, back to business, "You want me to track down the bastards?"

Thoros nods, still watching Linette. "Eventually, but not yet."

It's the type of cryptic answer Anguy is used to from the priest.

"Alright…" he drawls, "Then what do you need me for? Figure it's not just 'cus you missed my company."

"Fuck no," Thoros grins and turns to the archer. "Need you to scout ahead. We'll be heading to the Inn at the Crossroads to get that meal I promised, but we can't have soldiers lingering around. It'd be bad for our health. Besides, Lem and his crew might have gone there. I would have if I were them. Besides Saltpans, it's the closest city from here and they wouldn't dare go to Saltpans, not with all the King's men who hang about."

Anguy nods like the good soldier he is. "Alright. Am I takin' the horses?"

"Them and a couple men. Don't care who. Five would be enough."

"Don't think I can take Lem and his fools down by myself?"

Thoros chuckles, patting Anguy on the shoulder in a brotherly fashion. "I know you could, but I also know you'd kill them soon as you set eyes on them."

Anguy frowns. "Course I would. What's wrong with that?"

"They're due a fair trial for any and all crimes," the ginger reminds with a hint of remorse. "Just because their crimes happen to affect someone we know, doesn't mean we drop all semblance of justice."

Anguy begins to argue, feeling defensive of either Linette or himself, he's not sure which, but Thoros interrupts him before he can speak. "Just don't go killing anyone, alright? Bring them to me. No arrows through the ass. I know you want to have your fun but hold off. "

Anguy smirks. "Thought you were a priest. Killing ain't supposed to be fun."

"Just because I'm a priest doesn't mean I'm a very good one. Try as I might."

"Lord knows you try awful hard."

Thoros makes his best attempt to glare which only makes both men laugh.

"I'll see you lot later then," Anguy says, clapping the ginger on the back. "Don't be too slow or I'll drink all the rum before you get there."

"Now that's something I would have fun killing you for."

The archer laughs, saluting his leader, before heading off in the direction of the horses.

"Graige, Christor, Serion, Alix, and Jorrel!" he yells in the men's general direction. "You're with me! We're takin' the horses!"

There's a collective groan from all the men whose names he hadn't called. They know they'll all have to walk now. Anguy grins as he saddles his favorite horse.

"Where we goin'?" Christor asks, riding up on the smallest of their steeds. It's fitting since the wrinkled man is slight and meager in height himself.

"Scouting," Anguy jumps atop his horse. The lean, blood-bay gelding stomps his hooves in the dirt before settling under the archer's weight. "Up near the Inn at the Crossroads. Gonna see if there's any soldiers. Them or Lem's group."

"Killing or capturing?" asks a broad-shouldered man, Alix, as the rest of the men Anguy called ride up.

The archer sighs, "Capturing."

"You don't seem happy about that," Christor smirks. "Is it 'cus they hurt your girl?"

An amused snort passes Anguy's lips.

"She ain't my girl," he smirks knowingly, "but she is someone's, and believe me, Lem would be a whole lot happier if it's us who find him instead."

The men raise their brows and share questioning glances. Anguy can tell they want him to go on, but he doesn't talk. He smirks, keeping his mystery, and pulls his horse around in the direction of the Inn at the Crossroads.

"Come on. It's an hour and a half ride at least. Rather not sit around chatting."

With that, he takes off. It's a second or two before the men follow him, but he soon hears the pounding of the horses' hooves on the dirt.

Just as he expected, the trip doesn't take more than two hours. The inn, true to its name, sits at the crossroads between the Kingsroad running north-south, the River Road which goes West through the Riverlands, and the High Road going East to the Vale. A hearty place built of stone and timber, the inn looks a welcoming place. With large windows and several chimneys, the place is typically bustling with customers, but wartime keeps people away. The men hear and see no one around other than a washerwoman who carries an almost empty wicker basket into the inn.

"Go check inside." Anguy directs his order to Serion, the quickest of the group. The eager lad nods before jumping off his horse and handing the reins to Alix. His gait is spry and focused as he enters the inn.

"Don't think anyone will be here," Jorrel comments. He's lazily eyeing the open roads and thick trees around them. Not a single person in sight.

"Aye," Anguy agrees, "Probably hasn't been for awhile."

Serion comes running out a few minutes later, shaking his head.

"Innkeeper said there ain't been anyone here for four nights at least," he relays when he reaches them, "Was pretty damn happy to see me come in."

"He'll likely wet himself when the rest get here," Alix muses.

Graige smirks. "Aye. There's good in drinking yet."

Anguy can't help but grin at the men's good spirits. He brings his horse around to Alix's and takes the second set of reins out of his hands.

"Stay here, Serion," he says, handing his horse's reins back to him. "Watch the roads and make damn sure none of the Lannister fuckers end up in the inn before Thoros does."

The lad nods dutifully and mounts his steed.

"Where we goin'?" asks Jorrell.

"North," Anguy points in the direction. "There's a village there. Small, but soldiers use it to make camp since it's a good ways off the road. It's not far from here, but close enough to cause a problem for us later. Be best to check it out."

The men nod and ask no more questions as Anguy takes the lead. With one snap of the reins, his horse picks up speed, it's hooves beating steadily against the dirt road.

Another half hour of riding has them at the village. It's small, a village by name only. The buildings are spread out, as if the residents seriously disliked each other's stench. Trees surround the area, but the civilized space is completely flat and brown. Anguy spots the plain from a hilltop nearby. He slows his horse a mile or so off, wary to enter without having an idea of who might be there to greet them.

"Keep your eyes open, lads," he orders, gripping his horse's reins.

The men nod and pull their steeds closer to walk as a group. There's no sign of soldiers, no horses or campfires left in the grass on the outskirts of the village, but Anguy leads them into town anyway. He's nothing if not thorough.

"Don't see nothin' other than shit," Graige murmurs angrily as they pass a pair of skinny children dressed in rags.

"Aye…" Anguy agrees sadly.

Alix stops to give the children half of the bread he has in his saddle bag. They squeal in delight before running off, their bare feet caked in mud.

"Wait," Jorrel suddenly yanks his horse to a stop. The other men all turn quickly, not worried about the kids anymore, and see the largest man of their group pointing toward a building across the street. It looks like a tavern, but it isn't as busy as one normally would be. Only a few horses are tethered outside.

"That's a warhorse," Jorrel says, turning back to his comrades with a serious expression, "Tell me it ain't."

Anguy frowns and looks back at the horses outside the tavern. Now that he's looking twice, he quickly notices the horse Jorrel had. It's a heavy courser, much larger than all the others. He's a handsome stallion, black as night with strong, thick muscles.

"Aye," Alix gives Jorrel a tight-lipped nod. "That's a warhorse alright."

"Why would anyone here have a warhorse?" Graige frowns.

"I'll go check it out," Christor jumps off his steed, knowing what Anguy's next move will be. The small man quickly slinks across the road and into the tavern.

It's only a few moments before he comes back out. Anguy's surprised. It shouldn't be that easy to figure out who owns the horse. His surprise turns into confusion when he sees Christor's face. The man's eyes are wide, fear shimmering beneath them, but his cracked lips are pulled up in a wide arch.

"The fuck did you see in there?" Jorrel asks, noticing the odd excitement.

Christor shakes his head, breathing hard, and jumps back on his horse. He grins wide at Anguy, that fearful look still in his eyes.

"It's the fucking _Hound_ ," he gasps.

The men's expressions melt to match Christor's. All except Anguy. His eyes widen in momentary shock before a loud burst of laughter escapes him. The others look at him like he's mad.

"You think that's funny?!" Graige barks when Anguy continues to laugh. "It's the Hound! He could tear your head off with his bare hands!"

Alix shakes his head. "No, that's the Mountain."

"It's both of 'em!" Christor corrects.

Anguy's laughter dies down then and the men stop their squabbling to look at him expectantly. The archer only grins. He yanks his steed forward in the direction of the tavern.

What are the odds that he'd find the dog here? With his girl not far behind him either. The idea is highly amusing to the archer. He can't just ignore the coincidence. The little lady would be happy to see her Hound anyway, and he supposes the man wouldn't be opposed to seeing his thief again. If he's wrong, then Thoros or Beric will be pleased at having the Lannister dog in their custody. It's a win either way

"Come on, lads!" the archer calls over his shoulder at his men. They stare at him incredulously. He grins. "We're dog catchers today!"

 **~8~**

Sandor can't remember ever being this tired or this angry.

He was sure nothing could be worse than the feeling of having Linette missing for a whole week, only to be proven wrong at the feeling of having her missing for two. Then three. Three whole fucking weeks. All he's done is search for her. Both he and Stranger are run ragged, moving from one town to another, following rumors of where the Brotherhood might be. He hasn't seen them once.

The only thing he does besides search is drink. Constantly. He hasn't had a proper meal in those three weeks, taking comfort in ale and wine at the shit inns he finds instead. It puts him in a foul mood, but sobriety is worse. The pain he feels when he's coherent makes him angrier than he can ever remember being.

At first he was angry at the girl. The minx was able to claw her way into his life with her sweet words and her useless swordfighting and her stupid, fucking smile. Who the hell is she anyway? Just a peasant girl he shouldn't even care about. But he does.

When he lets himself realize that, the anger at her disappears. In its place is a deep burning rage at everything else. The world must hate him more than he thought. He hates it right back though. Just when he was starting to think he could be anything other than a dog, the only good thing he has is ripped away from him, proving to him once again that he doesn't deserve anything good. Of course he's angry at the world.

Mostly, though, he's angry at himself. He failed. Just like he did in King's Landing. Yet it's so much worse this time. Why hadn't he followed her? Why did he sit in that damn tavern and drink for so fucking long when she was getting hauled off and taken by a bunch of sick bastards? Why did he make her promises he couldn't keep?

With a growl, he throws one of his empty tankards as hard as he can against the wall. It shatters, spraying ale over the floor. The innkeeper shoots him a worried glance, but Sandor knows he won't come over here. Not when the Hound is this angry. No one would dare.

"You look like shit, mate."

Sandor glares up at the idiot who, for some reason, _is_ daring. The man is tall and lean with dark, unruly hair that matches the scruff on his face. He's grinning cheekily, one hand resting on the strap of what looks like a quiver.

"Fuck off," Sandor growls at the too-friendly archer and turns to drink heavily from the tankard he didn't throw.

"What's got you in such a good mood?" the man asks curiously.

Sandor's scowl is so dark that the archer's grin immediately slips.

"What part of _fuck off_ doesn't make sense to you?" He leans across the table menacingly, the thick muscles in his arms straining against his shirt as he resists shoving his blade down the archer's throat. The smaller man swallows warily but doesn't move.

"It makes sense," he says. "Just know the look of a man done wrong by a woman. Thought I could buy you a drink."

Fury rages through Sandor at the archer's words. He slams his glove-covered hands on the table and pushes himself up to his full height. The other man visibly pales. He looks up at Sandor who towers above him. The larger man scowls heavily and leans down so his ale-drenched breath hits the archer in the face.

"Fuck off. Now. Before I gut you."

The archer hesitates for just a moment. Then, as quickly as he can, pulls out a coin purse and tosses it on Sandor's table.

"Must be one hell of a woman," he quips before scurrying away, just barely missing the blow Sandor sends at his head.

"You _cunt_!" the large, inebriated man bellows as the archer slips out the door. The few people in the tavern stare at him. His lip curls as he glares at them all. He snarls as he swipes his tankard off the table and falls back into his seat with enough force to make the wood screech against the stone floor.

He drinks the rest of the ale in one gulp. The pain in his chest is back full-force. He curses that fucking archer for making him think of her all over again. For making him remember how much of a failure he is.

He heard word three days ago that the Brotherhood was going to be here, or at least near here. He wasn't sure why they'd want to come to this shit village, but he didn't question it. The moment he heard where they might be, he rode madly through the night, making the trip in half the time it was supposed to. That was two days ago. He'd been here since then, searching the town and the land near it, but there was nothing. No sign of the Brotherhood and no sign of Linette.

With a growl, Sandor snatches the archer's coin purse off the table. It reminds him of her: Long, silver-blonde curls invade his mind. Her storming eyes and the feeling of her satin lips against his deformed skin. Pain flares in his chest. His hand curls around the coin purse so he doesn't have to look at it anymore. He's suddenly all too aware of the necklace in his pocket. It feels like it's burning him.

"Fuck it all," he snarls and stands, teeth clenched and hands fisted.

He's going to need a hell of a lot more ale.


	26. A Pretty Prize

**CHAPTER 26: A PRETTY PRIZE**

"There she is!" Thoros exclaims loudly, his arms outstretched like he's greeting a lover. "Isn't she beautiful?"

Linette rolls her eyes but can't help grinning.

"Yes," she says, pretending to be impressed by the sight of the inn. "I'm so glad to meet your wife."

The ginger laughs boisterously, throwing his arm around the small woman's shoulders.

"Let me introduce you to her," he leads her through the doors of the inn and into the open room of the tavern. "The most glorious sight ever to be seen! Ale flows as freely as a whore's kiss here, lass. Not that there's a shortage of that either. Look."

He runs his hand over the top of one of the tables and pulls Linette close to whisper in her ear, "Had the best girl right here. I dream about her still."

"I bet you do," Linette laughs and pushes him off her, "Though I doubt she thinks of you at all."

He slaps a hand to his chest, feigning injury. "Your words are like knives, lass."

Laughing again, Linette shoves his shoulder. "Enough of your perverted stories. You promised us a meal."

"I promised the kiddies a meal," he corrects, "Didn't say anything about you."

"Just shut it and get the food," she rolls her eyes, making him grin, and walks away in search of Arry, Hot Pie, and Gendry. It isn't hard to spot them.

They're standing awkwardly by the door of the inn, clearly not sure what to do. Each hold their sword in their hand just as they've been doing since they came upon the Brotherhood in the first place. Linette whistles to get their attention.

"Over here," she nudges her head in the direction of an empty table and takes a seat.

The kids look unsure but slowly shuffle over. They sit on the opposite side of the table from her. Linette supposes that's smart, but she can't help but be a little miffed about it. Despite saving Arry the night before and talking with Gendry for hours, they still don't fully trust her. They sit rigid in their seats, watching the Brotherhood moving around them.

"Thoros went to get us food," Linette says, trying to calm them, "He should be back soon."

Hot Pie seems relieved but the other two don't.

"Is he really going to let us go?" Arry asks skeptically, staring hard at Linette. The blonde woman is surprised and a tad impressed by how straight forward the question is.

"I believe so," she nods. "He doesn't have any reason to keep you here."

"Not like he does with you, you mean," Gendry says gently, giving her a pointed look.

Linette smiles. "No. Not like that."

"We can help you," Arry offers suddenly, her dark eyes intense. "Fight our way out maybe. You shouldn't have to stay anywhere you don't want to be."

Gendry and even Hot Pie seem to agree with that. The heavier boy nods enthusiastically while Gendry tenses his jaw and looks over the men in the room, sizing them up. A blossom of warmth grows in Linette's chest.

"That's very kind of you," she gives the three kind smile, "but I wouldn't ask children to fight for me."

Arry frowns defensively, "We aren't children. Besides, we can fight."

"I don't doubt that for a second," Linette nods, completely agreeing, "It's just not what I want for you three. You don't need to fight for me, not when you clearly have other, more important things to worry about. Don't you, Arry?"

The girl looks shocked. Her body tenses and her eyes widen. Linette smiles softly and leans forward, taking the girl's hand in her own.

"I know you're hiding something," she whispers, "I don't know what it is, and I don't need to know, but something tells me you shouldn't be risking yourself for me."

Arry's surprise only strengthens. She looks Linette in the eye before nodding slowly.

"There has to be something we can do," the girl says, "Another way to help you. Something that isn't fighting."

Linette thinks for a second, making eye contact with Gendry and Hot Pie before looking back at Arry. The men around them are loud. It's impossible for them to hear their conversation, but Linette leans closer to Arry anyway.

"There is," she whispers hurriedly, "I need you to find someone for me, if you can. He-"

"What's this little rendezvous about?"

Linette groans as Thoros drops down beside her on the bench. She lets go of Arry's hand and sits back in her seat. The ginger is drinking heavily from a tankard of what smells like rum. He raises his eyebrows above the glass before setting it down and burping.

"Come on," he urges, a twinkle in his eye, "You can share it with me. Just between us girls."

"Didn't know you had a pussy," Graige laughs, taking a seat on the other side of Thoros.

"How could you not?" Linette rolls her eyes. Though she's irritated with them for interrupting, she shares a grin with Graige. He laughs heartily while Thoros chuckles into his tankard.

"Thought you were bringing us food," Arry interrupts dryly.

"I bought food," Thoros corrects, nudging her arm with his tankard. She frowns heavily, but he only grins, "Takes awhile for the kitchens to make things, little lady."

Thoros and the other man quickly finish off two tankards of rum each before a serving girl arrives with the food. Hot Pie's face immediately lights up. He doesn't hesitate to sheath his sword, trading it for the bowl of stew and bread. Gendry and Arry are a little more hesitant. The girl eyes her bowl warily before making Thoros drink from it. He laughs but complies. It's exactly what Linette made Anguy do on her first night with the Brotherhood. That realization makes her even more fond of the girl.

Realizing that they aren't being poisoned, Gendry and Arry eat greedily. Linette isn't surprised. She knows what it's like on the roads.

"I never liked the skinny ones," Thoros comments drunkenly, giving his wide tankard an approving look, "It's like drinking from a puddle. Not that I'm adverse to drinking from a puddle now and again, you understand."

Linette rolls her eyes.

"I don't like ale," Arry says through a mouthful of food.

"That's because you're young," Linette smiles knowingly, earning a nudge of agreement from Thoros.

"There's no story so good a drink won't make it better," he grins as the men around him agree loudly, "You see! They've all suffered through my patch of sobriety. It's very tedious for all concerned."

"You especially," Linette murmurs.

He pointedly ignores her but a twitch of his lips lets her know he heard.

"Now," he says, leaning on the table and looking curiously over the trio on the other side, "How did three children-"

"We're not children," Arry interrupts defensively.

Thoros doesn't look impressed.

"How did three _young persons_ ," he corrects with a roll of his eyes, "untrained in the art of war, escape from Harrenhal?"

Linette frowns. "What happened at Harrenhal?"

Thoros and Arry are too busy staring each other down to answer, but Graige answers her after a long sip of ale.

"Tywin Lannister took over. Stationed the Mountain there to hunt us down. It's a slaughter house."

There's a beat of silence. The hairs on Linette's arms stand up. If what she's heard of the Mountain is true, and from his own brother's lips, then to escape him would be something of legend. She watches as Arry chews slowly, deliberating her answer.

"Gendry's a smith," she says eventually, looking over at the older boy, "He was apprentice in the armory."

Thoros nods appreciatively before turning to the dark haired man, "A smith, eh? Where'd you train?"

"King's Landing," Gendry answers after sharing a quick look with Arry, "Tobho Mott's shop."

Thoros scoffs humorously, "That criminal? He charged twice as much as every armory in the city!"

"That's 'cus he's twice as good."

"Aha! A smith and a salesman," Thoros smirks, eyeing the other man curiously. Though he tries to hide it, Linette can tell Gendry's becoming uncomfortable under the priest's gaze.

"How'd you escape?" she asks Arry suddenly, urging her to respond with a raise of her brow. The girl quickly catches on and turns to Thoros.

"Gendry stole us weapons," she says.

"Ah!" the ginger nods, clearly pretending to believe the girl's story, "You fought your way out of Harrenhal, I see."

"He knows how to use a sword," Arry says defensively, a tone of strength in her voice. Her eyes harden dangerously, "And so do I."

The men around them laugh. The girl's strong look slips just a little.

"My brothers taught me…" she says, making the men laugh again, louder this time.

Linette wants to comfort her somehow, but Arry squares her shoulders, the determined look back in her eyes. It makes Linette worried.

"Arry…" she says warningly but it's too late.

The girl jumps out of her seat, her sword drawn and pointed at Thoros. There's a collective laugh from the men. Thoros looks at the tip of the blade, clearly amused, before taking a small sip out of his tankard. As soon as he's swallowed, his own blade is out. Arry backs up, eyes wide, as Thoros quickly advances. He swings at her, disarming her in one blow. The girl's sword clatters to the ground. Fear takes over her face as she scuttles back, away from Thoros who swipes his blade in the air a few more times before stilling. He looks smug.

That won't do.

Without a second thought, Linette grips the pommel of Graige's sword where it sticks out of the man's scabbard on his belt. In one motion, she unsheathes the blade, the steel singing as she deftly swings it to clash with the cross-guard on Thoros' sword. The unexpected attack sends it clattering to the floor. Shocked silence fills the tavern. Thoros takes a stunned step backward, his hand still in front of him as if he hasn't quite registered the loss of his blade.

"Bravo, Thoros," Linette snaps, kicking the sword out of her way as she approaches the priest. Her eyes narrow sharply, a taunting lilt pulling at her lips. "You've beaten a child. Save your celebrations for when you beat _me_."

He looks like he wants to say something but can't quite figure out what. With a scoff, Linette shoves Graige's sword into his hands and turns on her heels, heading toward Arry's fallen blade. She snatches it up and turns just in time to see Thoros pull himself back together. He turns to another table and swipes a tankard from one of the men, his jovial smirk once again plastered on his lips. He raises the tankard to Arry.

"To your brothers," he taunts, then drinks. The other men take the encouragement, cheering and drinking too.

Linette scowls and marches toward Arry who's glare flits between Thoros and the floor.

"Here," Linette offers the girl a small smile as she hands the sword back.

Arry takes it. She tries to smile back, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Linette sighs and leads the girl back to the table. Thoros is already back in his seat, drinking heavily. Linette scowls and purposefully jostles him as she sits beside him. Rum sloshes out onto his pants. He gives her a peeved look but doesn't say anything. Arry takes her seat across from them and he turns to her instead.

"You can finish your meals before you go," he says cordially, "It may be awhile before you see another."

Arry looks surprised, "You'll free us?"

"I gave you my word."

"You gave her your word too," Arry says fiercely, nodding at Linette, "but you didn't keep it."

Thoros sighs, becoming irritated, "I'm keeping it this time. I suggest you scurry off before I change my mind."

"We're not leaving her prisoner," Gendry insists, his hand on the hilt of his sword as he leans forward across the table.

Thoros raises his brow, his own hand drifting toward his sword.

"Stop," Linette orders, pushing their chests to get them away from each other.

Thoros chuckles while Gendry gives her an incredulous look. She smiles at him gently.

"I'll be fine," she insists, turning her smile on Arry and Hot Pie, "I promise. What's a little more stealing? Things could be worse."

They don't look convinced. Linette chuckles and settles back in her seat. She reaches over to take Thoros' tankard from him. He protests, but she ignores him and takes a large gulp from it. It burns her throat, but she smiles after it goes down and raises the glass to the trio.

"Go," she says, "Don't worry about me."

They hesitate for another moment. It takes a firm nod from Linette to get them to stand. Arry offers her a smile before they turn to leave, Gendry and Hot Pie behind her.

"Before you go," Thoros calls, making them stop. Linette rolls her eyes and looks up at the ginger who stands and holds his tankard out to them, "Allow me to raise a cup to-"

There's suddenly a commotion at the door. The men's conversations still as they all turn to look.

Anguy is the first to appear. He's grinning widely, his arms open wide and holding his bow in one hand. Behind him scuffles in the group he'd taken with him when he left that morning. They're manhandling someone into the inn. The unfortunate man is tied up, a black bag over his head. He stands at least a head above everyone else.

Linette's heart stops at that revelation. She knows only one person that tall. Her eyes fly over the man. She quickly notices the set of familiar, dark armor he's wearing.

 _A Hound's armor_.

Almost in a daze, she stands, jostling everything on the table, the blood rushing in her ears. The man behind her laughs in amusement.

"Looks like your girl missed you, Anguy!" he calls out loud enough for everyone to hear.

Linette doesn't react. Her eyes flit wildly between the bound man and the archer who's smirking knowingly.

"That's an uncommonly large person," Thoros laughs loudly and staggers over to the group with a delighted smile, his tankard in one hand. He turns to Anguy, "How does one manage to subdue such an uncommonly large person?"

The archer grins, "One waits for him to drink until he passes out."

"Poor man," Thoros sips from his tankard then reaches up to remove the bag over the man's head, "You have my sympathies."

He takes off the bag and Linette's breath leaves her entirely.

 _It's_ _him_.

Sandor blinks disorientedly into the light. There are dark bags under his eyes like he hasn't slept in days, and his hair is messy, wild looking. He looks like shit, but Linette's heart lurches at the sight of him anyway. He's here. She wants to run over and throw her arms around him, but he starts looking around, taking in his surroundings, and she remembers everything that happened that morning in Dawros.

She ducks out of sight before he can see her. Her chest rises and falls quickly. She immediately feels a fool, but doesn't make any move to reveal herself.

"Aha!" Thoros exclaims loudly, "Not a man at all. A Hound!"

The men erupt into howls and whistles. The sound makes Linette's heart ache.

"So good to see you again, Clegane," Thoros greets Sandor quietly.

Linette peeks over the table, trying to hear better. She catches sight of the men where they stand a few tables down. Sandor stands tall over everyone else. His scowl dims a little with confusion.

"Thoros?" he says, his voice rougher than Linette remembers. "The _fuck_ you doing here?"

The ginger shrugs and lifts his tankard to his lips. Linette watches as Arry, Gendry, and Hot Pie finally move from their place on the other side of the table and head toward the door, their heads down.

"Drinking and talking to you. Same as ever," Thoros grins before spinning around to face his men. "A pretty prize, lads!"

They all cheer.

Arry just passes Sandor when he catches sight of her, looking surprised.

"Girl!" he yells, making her stop. Linette frowns as Arry tenses, turning to face Sandor with a fearful expression. Sandor scowls, looking back to Thoros.

"What in seven _hells_ are you doing with the Stark bitch?"

Linette's eyes widen with shock. She sits up now, forgetting to hide as she looks closer at the unassuming girl.

"This is Arya Stark?" Thoros asks, astonished, turning back to Sandor for confirmation.

"Aye," he nods, "Wouldn't forget the pup's face."

Thoros stares at the frightened girl for a moment before shaking his head.

"Tsk, tsk," he wags a finger at Arry, "Thought you could trick me, did ya, lass?" He throws an arm over her shoulders. She shrinks a little, but he's quickly guiding her away. "I admit, you almost had me. Almost. But now, we need to have a chat."

He leads Arry… Arya out of the inn. Gendry and Hot Pie try to follow after her, but they're stopped by some of the other men.

"What are you going to do with me now?" Sandor turns to taunt Anguy, looking down at him with a bored expression. "Was he supposed to intimidate me? Seen the cunt before. Not impressed."

The archer smirks, "Neither are we."

He turns his head toward where he last saw Linette. She knows he's looking for her, so she ducks back under the table. Yet, the man behind her grabs her arm with the strength and gentleness of a drunk. She hisses in pain as he hauls her up.

"Got your girl right here!" he yells at Anguy, pulling Linette out from behind the table.

"Don't fucking touch me!" She rips her arm out of his hold, trying to stay out of sight, but it's too late. She stumbles out of the crowd and into the open aisle between the tables.

" _Linette_."

She hears Sandor breathe her name.

Her heart jumps to life.

She bites her lip nervously and turns to look at him, fully prepared for him to yell at her or worse, dismiss her entirely, but he doesn't. He looks shocked… relieved perhaps. Linette lets herself hope for half a second, letting the longing in her heart spread, until she sees the look on Sandor's face sour the longer he looks at her. The anger she's so used to from him takes over. She smothers the warm feeling in her heart immediately.

Sandor scowls, his lip curling to reveal his canine teeth as the most vicious snarl rips through his throat. He thrashes against the men holding him who only have the upper hand since his hands are tied. He gets as close to Anguy's face as he can.

"She your girl, is she?!" he growls, pure loathing in his dark eyes. "You do that to her face?!"

Linette touches the severely bruised skin around her nose. Anguy chuckles at the situation which only deepens Sandor's fury. With the most animalistic growl Linette has ever heard, he rears back and slams his forehead into the archer's face. Anguy curses, backing away from Sandor with his hand held to his now bloody nose and lip. Linette gasps and runs to him.

"Fuck, lass," Anguy chuckles through the blood. "You didn't tell me he liked you this much."

"He doesn't…" she mumbles, ignoring the heat of Sandor's gaze burning a hole in her head to hand Anguy a rag from a nearby table. He takes it quickly and presses it to his nose.

"Little bird," Sandor barks quietly, keeping his voice low so only she hears. Her scowl is immediate. Anger floods through her, giving her enough courage to finally turn and face him.

"I told you _never_ to call me that," she hisses venomously, stalking forward until she's right in front of him.

She's prepared to yell at him until she's hoarse, but the moment her eyes meet his, she falters. His usually angry gaze seems sadder than normal. She takes a shaky breath in and swallows thickly. She can't seem to look away now, no matter how angry she is.

"Which one of these fuckers did that?" he demands through clenched teeth, his gravelly voice low.

She hesitates for just a second. "They're not here. I killed two of them. The others left. One of them stole my sword."

"How many got away?"

"Three."

"I'll rape their corpses."

Linette frowns, anger resurfacing in her eyes. "Why do you care? You made it abundantly clear how you felt the last time I saw you."

He scowls and shakes his head. "No. I fucked up. I didn't g-"

"Oi!" A large man suddenly appears in the inn's doorway. "Thoros says to pick up the pace or you're staying here!"

"Fuck you all!" Sandor bellows at being interrupted. Linette sighs and takes a step back from him. He calls after her angrily as she starts to walk away: "I'm not done talking to you, girl!"

"Tough, because I'm done talking to you," she says, her voice lacking the fire she wants. She sighs and runs a hand through her filthy hair. Her fingers get caught which only makes her more irritated.

"Fuck!" she curses quietly and yanks her hand out.

"Losing a fight with your own hair. You must be slipping." Anguy appears by her side. He tilts his head back as he walks, the cloth still pressed to his nose. Linette shakes her head and picks up her pace, all too eager to get outside and out of the stuffy tavern. She doesn't feel like talking to any of these idiots right now.

"You think you're good with that bow? You little twat." Sandor's angry voice from behind makes Linette frown. She walks faster toward the cart where it waits a little ways down the dirt road.

"Better than anyone you've ever met," Anguy responds cheekily.

"Coward's weapon," Sandor spits. "I like to fight up close. I like to see a man's face when I put the steel in him."

"Why? So you can kiss him?"

Anguy passes Linette then, shooting her a wink that almost makes her smile. Sandor's rough growl sounds. He's talking to someone now, but she doesn't pay attention to it. She hops up into the cart, watching as Anguy walks up to Sandor with a black hood.

"Apologies," he says sarcastically, yanking the hood over Sandor's head, "but you're one ugly fucker and I don't want to see you no more."

Linette frowns at the insult despite herself. The men push Sandor up to the cart, one yanking on the bindings on his chest to get him to step up.

"Sandor," Linette says instinctually as he puts his foot up, "You should du-"

Sandor's forehead slams against the roof of the cart exactly like she thought it would. She cringes.

"Watch your head," Anguy chastises, grinning happily.

Sandor growls something unintelligible under his breath as he's forced onto a seat across from Linette. She leans back against the wall with a frown and crosses her arms over her chest, glaring at the blindfolded man. Anguy chuckles as he sits down beside her. She doesn't question it for a second, but when he keeps laughing, she turns to him with an irritated frown.

"What the hell are you laughing at?" she snaps.

He shoots her a knowing grin.

"I found your mutt," he wags his eyebrows, "Looked like he's been missin' you. Maybe it's breeding season…"

Linette punches him soundly in the gut at the same time that Sandor sends a powerful kick to the archer's shin. Linette winces at the sheer force of it.

"Don't open your mouth again. Brotherhood _cunt_ ," Sandor growls from underneath the hood.

"Fuck!" Anguy wraps both hands around his undoubtedly bruised leg. "You could've broken it!"

"Wish I did."

"Tell you what. Don't open _your_ cunt mouth again, or I'll shove an arrow up your arse."

"Like to see you try."

Linette shakes her head just as one of the other men yanks a hood over her head. She sighs in irritation as her vision is cut off. Sandor and Anguy continue to bicker, but she tunes it out. Her mind is whirling almost dizzyingly fast. She worries her lip nervously, thinking about everything she's not sure how to say to the man she's been unwillingly missing for the last three weeks. She wants to scream at him, hit him over the head a few times even, but still, after everything, what she really wants to do is hold his hand.

That infuriates her. She shouldn't want anything to do with him, not after what he did, but she can't help it. Besides, she knows he'd reject her. Again. He'd just push her off him, remind her of how little he cares for her.

With a sigh, she lets her head bang against the wall behind her and tries everything in her power not to think about the man across from her.


	27. Trial by Fire

**CHAPTER 27: TRIAL BY FIRE**

Linette's ass is numb by the time the cart finally stops. Men are talking loudly over the clamor of things being unloaded takes over the sounds of the forest. They could be anywhere for all Linette knows. Darkness is all she can see through the hood, that and the occasional prick of light through the small holes in the fabric.

"Come on, thief." Anguy's voice sounds from her left as his hand takes hold of her upper arm. "Takin' you in now."

He guides her out of the cart as carefully as he can. She hears Sandor cursing at someone behind her, but she doesn't care enough to figure out what he's doing; she has to put all her attention into where she places her feet. The ground is uneven. Anguy pulls her around, guiding her, she assumes, but when she slips for the fourth time, she angrily stops walking.

"I swear if you're doing this on purpose…" she hisses in his general direction.

He chuckles. "Can't blame me. Amusing to see you struggle."

Linette scowls at him even though he can't see. When he continues to laugh, she swipes her leg in the direction of his voice. A satisfied smirk pulls on her lips when she hears him fall. Even blind she can knock him on his ass.

"Graige!" She ignores Anguy's moaning to turn to where she thinks the rest of the Brotherhood is. "Come guide me! I don't trust this idiot."

There's a scuffling sound and a chorus of chuckles before someone new takes hold of her arm. Their hand is larger than Anguy's. Graige begins pulling her along. She goes willingly, immediately finding it easier to walk than before.

"Thank you," she says happily.

"You're welcome," the man's voice sounds from above her. "Though I should be thankin' you, lass. The Hound ain't a friendly sort. Kept threatening to cut my cock off. Glad to be away from him."

Linette suddenly can't think of anything to say. Silence settles between them.

They walk for Linette doesn't know how long. The soft dirt under her boots gives way to something harder: stone. She feels its sturdiness beneath her feet, her footsteps sounding louder as she's led down. The earth slopes, twisting and turning over rocks until the darkness under her hood grows blacker and blacker. The air takes on a cold, moist feeling. It's unsettling. More so when small orbs of light appear through her blindfold, small at first, then growing larger and larger until a dozen or so glow ominously before her and she's pulled to an abrupt stop.

When the hood is yanked off her head, she blinks disorientedly for a moment. Graige walks away from her, but she doesn't watch him for long. The noises around her pull her attention to her surroundings.

She's in a cave. The realization sends a spark of excitement through her. The cave is dark and seems large, but she can only that which is illuminated by a handful of crudely made torches and the wide fire she and the men are gathered around. Their numbers are more than she expected. Before, the Brotherhood was just a ragtag band of men in the forest, but they're clearly more. A small army really. Some sit around, digging through supplies or cleaning weapons, but a few stand ready, watching, their hands gripped onto rusty swords and old torches. By their light Linette can see the cave stretch further out behind the crowd, sinking downward to become a labyrinth of tunnels that disappears into the earth.

"What is this place?" Gendry appears on the opposite side of the fire from Linette, Arya by his side. Thoros gives the boy a knowing look, a mysterious glint in his eye.

"Somewhere neither waifs nor lions come prowling."

Linette rolls her eyes at the purposefully divergent response just as Anguy passes by her, yanking Sandor along to stand by the fire. The familiar ache appears in her chest. She chews on her lip as the archer pulls Sandor's hood off. The large man turns to scowl at Anguy, but it vanishes when he catches sight of the massive fire he's standing next to. He immediately backs away, eyes wide. Some of the men in the crowd chuckle. Sandor angrily turns on them. His intimidating gaze stops their mirth immediately. A hush falls over the crowd, and Sandor runs his critical eye over them all, judgement clear on his face.

"You look like a bunch of swine herds," he taunts.

"Some of us were swine herds," Anguy steps up beside Linette, "and some of us were tanners and masons. That was before."

Sandor scowls heavily when he sees the archer so close to the blonde. "You're _still_ swine herds, and tanners, and masons. You think carrying a crooked spear makes you a soldier?"

"No," a new voice calls out from the other side of the cave. "Fighting in a war makes you a soldier."

All eyes turn to the imposing man who emerges from the crowd. Linette watches him curiously. He's lean and clad in black. The cloth moves with him as he crosses the cave slowly, confidently. The men clear a path for him as he walks, giving him a wide berth almost reverently. Yet he casts them not a glance. He watches Sandor only. There's a serene look on his face, one that somehow appears wise with the addition of the dark leather eye patch that covers his right eye.

"Beric Dondarrion…" Sandor recognizes the man. He raises a brow. "You've seen better days."

The man, Beric, smirks, his blond mustache and beard pulling upward too. "And I won't see them again."

Sandor shakes his head in irritation at the jest. He turns away from Beric to scoff at the man's pitiful excuse for an army.

"Stark deserters," he spits. "Baratheon deserters. You lot aren't fighting in a war. You're _running_ from it."

Beric isn't fazed. He folds his hands behind his back and fixes his good eye on Sandor. "Last I heard, you were King Joffrey's guard dog, but here you are. A thousand miles from home. Which of us is running?"

"Untie these ropes and we'll find out." Sandor grins cockily and leans toward Beric. A challenge. Yet a chuckle from Anguy has the Hound turning around immediately. His loathful glare darkens, hating that the archer stands beside Linette. Her grey eyes meet his. Sandor growls lowly, a new fire burning in him at the sight, and spins around to face down Beric again.

"What are you doing?" he asks the Brotherhood leader, clearly thinking him a fool, "Leading a mob of _peasants_."

Beric sighs. "Ned Stark ordered me to execute your brother in King Robert's name. He-"

"Ned Stark is dead," Sandor interrupts forcefully. "King Robert is dead. My _brother_? He's alive." He spits disdainfully in the dirt before shaking his head. "You're fighting for ghosts."

"That's what we are," Beric nods, his tone strengthening as he stands taller. "Ghosts. Waiting for you in the dark. You can't see us, but we see you. No matter whose cloak you wear. Lannister, Stark, Baratheon. You prey on the weak, and the Brotherhood Without Banners will hunt you down."

Linette swallows nervously as the men in the room nod and hum in agreement. Their excited eyes watch Sandor expectantly, like they know something's about to happen. She doesn't know what, but her hand drifts to the hilt of her sword. Her eyes flit to Sandor who doesn't seem impressed at all by Beric's speech. He shakes his head in irritation.

"You found god?" he scoffs, "Is that it?"

"Aye," Beric confirms without an ounce of hesitation. "I've been reborn in the light of the one, true god." Murmurs of agreement drift from the crowd. Beric nods and gestures to them. "As have we all. As would anyone who's seen the things we've seen."

Sandor groans and rolls his eyes. "If you mean to murder me, then bloody well get on with it."

Linette's heart lurches.

 _Are they going to kill him?_

Her worried eyes fly to Anguy, the question on her lips, but the way he tenses says it all. He won't meet her eye. Her chest tightens.

"You'll die soon enough, dog," Thoros says, coming to stand between Sandor and the massive fire, "but it won't be murder. Only justice."

"You can't!" Linette exclaims.

Sandor whips his head to her, surprised. His dark eyes meet hers and she begins to rush forward, to run to him, but Anguy catches her arm. He holds her back as she yanks uselessly against his grip.

"It's a kinder fate than he deserves," the archer tells her firmly before turning to face Sandor, his eyes blazing angrily in a way Linette has never seen of the light hearted man.

"Lions you call yourselves," he spits. "At the Mummer's Ford, girls of seven were raped! Babes still on the breast were cut in two while their mothers watched!"

Linette's fighting stills as the horrible things are said. She stares desperately at Sandor, begging him to say he hadn't done them. He meets her gaze, sees her fear, and his face hardens.

"I wasn't at Mummer's Ford!" he growls at Anguy. "Dump your dead children at some other door!"

"House Clegane was built upon dead children," Thoros states, giving Sandor a hard look. "I saw them lay Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys before the Iron Throne."

"Do you take me for my _brother_?" Sandor snarls at the priest. Thoros clenches his jaw but doesn't speak. Sandor growls in growing irritation and turns to address all the men in the room. "Is being born Clegane a crime?!"

"Murder is a crime!" Anguy yells without pause. The anger in his eyes has Linette pushing against him again, trying to get out of his hold.

"I never touched the Targaryen babes!" Sandor yells, advancing on Anguy who rests his free hand on his sword in response. The men around him do the same. Linette stills, afraid for Sandor, but the Hound isn't looking at the men around him. He's looking at her. Their eyes meet. He pauses for a single moment before a dark scowl takes over his already fearsome features. He turns to Anguy.

"I never saw the whelps. Never _smelled_ them. Never heard them _bawling_. You want to cut my throat, then get on with it! But don't call me murderer and pretend that you're not."

Stillness and silence follow. Linette, barely daring to breathe and dangling from Anguy's hand, looks to Beric and Thoros, hoping they've changed their minds, that they won't hurt Sandor. Their faces are hard masks. Relief spreads in Linette's chest at that realization. They're men of action. If their minds were made up, they would have done something by now. She almost lets herself hope when Arya's angry voice yells out above the crowd.

"You murdered Mycah!"

And the hope is gone.

Everyone turns to look at Arya. The girl stands beside Gendry on the other side of the fire. Her hands are balled into fists. The fire reflecting in her eyes is nothing to the heat of the glare she's giving Sandor. Every ounce of hatred she has is behind that look. The sight makes Linette's heart clench.

"The butcher's boy," the young girl continues, venom on her tongue. "My _friend_. He was twelve years old. He was unarmed and you rode him down. You slung him over your horse like he was some deer!"

The hard masks on Thoros and Beric's faces slip into ones of understanding.

"Aye," Sandor agrees quietly, watching Arya. "He was a bleeder."

Linette shakes her head desperately. Why would he say that? Even if it were true, doesn't he realize he'll be killed for it?

Beric seems to be having the same thoughts.

"You don't deny it?" he asks, a curious look in his eye.

Sandor tightens his jaw before squaring his shoulders. He turns his back on both Beric and Arya, looking only at Linette. She watches him closely.

"I was Joffrey's sworn shield," he tells her softly. "The boy attacked the prince."

"That's a lie!" Arya yells. " _I_ hit Joffrey. Mycah just ran away."

"Then I should have killed _you_!" Sandor raises his voice to Arya but doesn't take his eyes off the blonde woman in front of him. He shakes his head, quieting. "It's not my place to question princes."

Linette bites her lip as she looks at him. He's being honest. Even now. All the anger she's been holding onto begins to fade. She can't be mad at him, not if he's about to die.

"You stand accused of murder," Beric's voice booms, echoing loudly. Linette flinches. Sandor holds her gaze for another moment before bravely turning to face Beric. The one eyed man slowly walks toward Sandor, the firelight casting shadows on his face.

"No one here knows the truth of the charge," he continues, "so it is not for us to judge you. Only the Lord of Light may do that now. I sentence you to trial by combat."

Sandor relaxes slightly. He snorts like that's nothing and turns to look out upon the less than impressive group of men around him. Clearly not soldiers or warriors. Linette breathes a small sigh of relief.

"So, who will it be?" Sandor asks, spinning slowly until he faces Thoros. He grins and leans down close to the ginger. "Should we find out if your fire god really loves you, priest?"

Thoros does nothing other than quirk a brow. Sandor scoffs and turns away. His eyes narrow, settling on Anguy who stands to his left, still holding Linette's arm tightly.

"Or you _archer_ ," he spits the word like it's a bad taste in his mouth. "What are you worth with a sword in your hand?"

Anguy doesn't rise to the bait, much to Linette's relief. Sandor laughs harshly and turns to face the room. He scowls at the men who just stand there, watching him.

"Is the little girl the bravest one here?" he taunts.

"Aye," Beric speaks up, making Sandor turn to him. The one eyed man smiles at Arya over his shoulder. "She might be, but she won't decide your fate." He turns back to Sandor, staring at him intensely. "It's me you'll fight."

Sandor doesn't look as sure as he did before. Linette grows nervous again. She knows nothing of Beric, but he must be a skilled fighter to make Sandor's confidence slip.

"Stay here, thief," Anguy pushes her toward one of his men who quickly grabs her other arm. She scowls at being manhandled but grows frantic when the archer releases her and begins to walk toward Sandor.

"Anguy! Wait!" she calls, making him look back, "Let me talk to him. Please. If it's my last chance, I want to talk to him."

The archer eyes her warily, "No funny business?"

She shakes her head adamantly, "No. I promise. You can keep hold of me if you want."

Anguy stares at her for another moment before sighing heavily. He gestures for the man holding her to let go. Linette yanks her arm out of his grip and hurries to the archer, her eyes focused only on Sandor who's watching her too.

"Make it quick, thief," Anguy grabs her arm again and pulls her with him across the cave, "And don't say I never did nothing for you."

She nods dumbly. Loose curls fall into her face as she does, but she doesn't care. Her heart beats more rapidly with every hurried step she takes. Sandor seems to be breathing heavily too. His chest rises and falls quickly as he watches her approach. They pass Beric and Thoros who stand by the fire, talking in quiet whispers.

"Your thief wants to talk to you, Hound," Anguy pushes her forward. She stumbles, almost falling into Sandor, but manages to catch herself. He's only a few inches from her now. Her palms begin to sweat and she looks up, biting her lip. Those downturned eyes of his seem so sad despite how strong he looks, broad shouldered and covered in steel.

"Back up, Anguy." She doesn't break eye contact with Sandor as she speaks.

The archer sighs but obeys her order anyway. He holds her at arm's length, enough to give her and Sandor some semblance of privacy. The Hound shoots him a glance before turning all his attention back to Linette.

"Listen, girl," he bends down close to her, his eyes intense and his voice rough like always. He lowers his voice so only she hears. "It wasn't what you thought. I-"

"No," Linette interrupts. Sandor snaps his mouth closed as she takes a confident step forward. " _I_ came to talk to _you_. You're going to listen."

He works his jaw for a moment before nodding tensely. Linette takes a shaky breath in, trying to gather her courage. She balls her fists and forces herself to look at him.

"I'm angry with you." The words are hard for her to say, but once they're out, she feels a lightness settle somewhere deep within herself. She notices Sandor's face harden, but she keeps going with a shake of her head, not willing or able to stop the truths now that she's started.

"I gave you something I've never given anyone, and you made me feel worthless after. It tore me apart. It's _been_ tearing me apart." Her voice shakes, "I felt used, like those lions had me again."

Sandor's eyes harden like stone. His shoulders straighten, making him seem impossibly taller. Linette feels tears in her eyes, but she swallows harshly and takes a small step closer to him, her chin raising as confidence surfaces in her eyes.

"But I'm not my feelings. I'm not worthless. I may have been used, but I'm not ruined."

The air vibrates sweetly as it always does when truth is spoke, and, for a moment, she forgets Sandor standing before her, forgets the brotherhood surrounding her, forgets everything else. It's just her and her words ringing truth into her soul until she feels in her core that she won't forget it, not even for a moment. She smiles. The sight is reflected in front of her, shining off the armor close enough to touch, and she raises her eyes, her lips once again turning somber as she meets Sandor's guarded gaze. Without thinking twice and wanting the serenity of truth to stay a little while longer, she speaks, emboldened.

"I can't make myself hate you." Sandor's eyes narrow, full of disbelief. The sight distracts her momentarily, but not for long. "I know you said you didn't want me, but I need you to know I care for you. Even still." Talking faster and feeling all too vulnerable, she puts space between them with a slight shuffle of her feet. "Do with that what you will. Nothing if you want. I just needed you to know. Needed _myself_ to know that I don't have anything to regret not saying."

She stares up at him. His filthy, dark hair falls in his eyes, but she can see how they stare fiercely into hers. She watches him for a moment, refusing to be the one to back down or speak next. His chest rises and falls beneath the steel breastplate. His leather-clad fingers twitch, held back by his binds, before he swallows thickly, his eyes tightening with some decision he's come to.

"Reach in my pocket," he orders, his voice gruff. "Left one."

Linette frowns but does as he asks. Her fingers slip into the hole on his trousers. The warmth of him causes her pause, but she touches something metal and looks at him in question. He nods sharply. She grips it tightly and pulls it out, twisting it toward the light to see by. Her frown only deepens when she sees what it is. A necklace. It's delicate in her palm, more beautiful than the few pieces of jewelry she's seen in her life. The shimmering pendant of silver seems to glow in the firelight. She softly brushes her thumb over the small, yellow sapphire and elegant silver bird beneath it.

"Got it in Dawros," Sandor's voice pulls her attention at him. He pauses under her gaze. "You didn't have anything good enough for a Lady."

She curls her fingers around it. Her eyes flit between his. There's an ounce of sincerity in his eyes, and she wants, more than anything, to clasp the necklace around her neck, to feel its metal against her skin, but the memory of that morning in Dawros stops her. All her unanswered questions, her uncertainty and fears flood her mind. She holds the necklace tightly in her hand.

Thoros picks that moment to begin praying.

"Lord, cast your light upon us."

" _Lord of Light, defend us_ ," the crowd chants, the words echoing off the stone walls.

Linette's breath hitches as Sandor's eyes harden, his broad shoulders straightening to stand over her at his full height. He clenches his jaw and looks to where Beric kneels by the fire, Thoros standing over him. Linette reaches out to touch his wrist gently, pulling his attention back to her.

"You better win," she orders, a harsh look in her eye.

"Aye, lit- lass. I won't leave you again."

"Time's up," Anguy declares, appearing by Linette's side. He keeps hold of her as he cuts Sandor's restraints. The large man yanks his arms free, rolling the tension out of his shoulders and neck. The moment the ropes fall to the ground, Anguy is pulling Linette away. She turns her head over her shoulder as she walks. It makes her stumble, but she keeps her eyes on Sandor. His eyes follow her.

"Show us the truth," Thoros' voice sounds through the cave again. "Strike this man down if he is guilty. Give strength to his sword if he is true. Lord of Light, give us wisdom for the night is dark and full of terrors."

" _For the night is dark and full of terrors_ ," the crowd chants, their collective voice echoing hauntingly in the firelight.

Sandor keeps his eyes on Linette's for another moment before turning away. He takes his blade from a man who appears from the crowd. The massive broadsword looks fitting in Sandor's hand at the moment, his eyes fierce and his movements dangerous as he swings the blade around him.

"I'm sorry, thief," Anguy whispers to her as they come to stand at the front of the circle of men gathered to watch the fight. He doesn't let go of her arm. She knows he thinks Sandor will lose. The thought has her fingers pressing the necklace further into her palm.

A sudden whoosh of air makes Linette tear her eyes from Sandor to where the sound came from. Her eyes widen. Beric now holds a sword in his hand and a shield on the other arm. It's his sword though, that startles Linette. The blade is consumed by flames. She's seen this once before when Thoros saved her in the wood, but the thought of the same blade that saved her life taking Sandor's is terrifying.

"That's not fair!" she yells, yanking at Anguy's hold. Her eyes fly to Sandor whose fear is clear on his face. His eyes are wide, his sword and shield held limply.

Beric stands with a smirk. That seems to ignite the fight in Sandor. With a mighty yell, the Hound attacks. Their blades clash ferociously as they battle around the fire. They meet each other blow by blow, yet Sandor can't help but lean away from Beric's swings. His eyes turn manic as he watches the arch of flames slice too close for comfort. The fear is affecting him.

He swings at Beric wildly, just barely avoiding the flaming blade, but Beric ducks and shoves him into the massive fire that sits in the middle of the cave. Sandor yells as the flames burst higher up his legs as if covered in alcohol.

"No!" Linette screams, tears in her eyes now. Watching his worst fear used against him is almost like she's the one who's been burned.

Hearing her cry, Sandor steps out of the flames angrily. Emboldened by what Linette doesn't know, he kicks a pile of buckets at Beric and uses the diversion to attack again. The one-eyed man is forced back, but he spins and shoves Sandor roughly in the chest with his shield. Sandor trips, almost knocking down a group of onlookers. He lands on a knee, breathing hard.

Beric attacks while Sandor is down. The Hound growls, his teeth bared, as he deflects each blow with his shield and the power of his muscles until he stands. His nostrils flare as he swings his blade mercilessly at Beric. Each relentless blow knocks the man back while chipping away at his wooden shield until it's nothing more than splinters. Beric throws his ruined shield off before running, full-speed at Sandor, the flaming sword held in front of him.

The blazing orange and red sparks fear in Sandor's eyes. He's once again more worried about the fire than the fight. Beric's quick swings cause Sandor to fall as he tries to avoid them. He lands harshly on his back. Beric wastes no time in bringing his blade down on the larger man. Sandor desperately raises his shield, trying to block the fire's path to his chest, but the flames quickly catch onto the wood of his shield. The fire spreads, hot and bright, licking the air and Sandor's skin.

He screams. Linette fights so hard against Anguy that he has to wrap both arms around her torso to keep her from running to Sandor.

The crowd begins to chant: " _Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!_ "

Sandor rolls out of the way of Beric's blade and manages to stand. He desperately hacks at the burning shield with the edge of his sword, trying to get it off.

"Kill him!" Arya screams viciously from across the cave. Linette's tears fall as she kicks Anguy violently.

Beric swipes his sword through the air, creating an arch of light in the air, and attacks. He's going for the kill.

"Don't!" Linette screams in horror.

The blow is aimed at Sandor's neck, but he dodges it. His eyes are wild as he swings his blade freely, fighting Beric with a ruthless strength. The one-eyed man tries to defend himself, but the Hound is bloodthirsty, a crazed look in his eyes. Beric falls to his knees, swinging one of Sandor's blows off, but the force causes him to fall to the right. With a mighty yell, Sandor swings his sword above his head then brings it down on Beric. The blade slices into the fire-wielder's shoulder and cuts down into his chest.

The chanting stops. Linette stills in Anguy's arms. Beric moans once before dropping his sword. The flames go out, leaving just an ordinary steel blade, and the man's body falls. Thoros immediately rushes over, falling on his knees to pray over the dead man. The only sounds are his chanting and Sandor's desperate cries as he falls to the ground, furiously trying to get the burning shield off him.

"Let go!" Linette thrashes against Anguy again. He doesn't even try to hold her anymore.

As soon as he lets go, Linette dashes across the cave. Shoving the necklace in her pocket, she slides to her knees where Sandor lays bashing his arm against the ground in an attempt to either put out the flames or break the shield. Linette doesn't hesitate to grab it. She hisses in pain as the flames lick her hands, but she doesn't care. She grabs at the wood, yanking it off Sandor's arm. The flames go out as she slides the shield across the cave.

"Arya! Don't!" Gendry's panicked voice suddenly bursts out.

Eyes wide, Linette turns to see Gendry tackle Arya to the ground just a few feet behind her. The girl thrashes wildly, a knife in her hand and her murderous gaze focused on Sandor.

"No! Let go of me! Let go!" she screams wildly.

Linette hears Sandor chuckle. She turns to see him cradling his burned arm to his chest, still laying on the ground. Though he's covered in sweat, panic still simmering beneath his gaze, he smirks tauntingly at Arya.

"Looks like the fire god likes me more than your butcher's boy."

Arya glares ferociously, "Go to hell!"

"He will," Linette's heart almost flies out of her chest at the sound of Beric's voice, "but not today."

Everyone turns, astonished, to see the previously dead man kneeling by the fire. His breath is labored, but he's _breathing_. The gash in his shoulder is gone, only smooth skin visible through the hole in his shirt, the only evidence that Sandor had cut him at all. Linette's mouth hangs open.


	28. Won't Do It Again

**CHAPTER 28: WON'T DO IT AGAIN**

"Lass," Sandor's worried voice pulls her attention from Beric. She turns to see him struggle momentarily to sit up, yanking the glove off his burned arm with his teeth and smacking it on the ground. A wince of pain passes his features, but he seems to ignore it and instead frowns as he looks at her.

"You're hurt." His jaw clenches as he nods at her hands.

She holds them up, not fully comprehending even as she looks at her palms. They're covered in a black layer of soot. The skin underneath is clearly red and raw, some of it swelling underneath the rough skin. She closes her fingers in a fist, hissing quietly at the pain before offering Sandor a weak smile.

"I've had worse." She nods at the burns on his face, "And so have you."

He isn't amused.

"Let me see," he waves his hand for her to come to him.

She starts to move, but Anguy suddenly appears in front of her. His body cuts off her vision of Sandor. He crouches down, seemingly oblivious to the conversations she'd been having, and takes her hands into his before them over gently.

"Can't leave you alone for a damn second…" he mutters, shaking his head playfully. Linette's lips quirk up as he pulls her to her feet by her elbows. "Come on, thief. Gotta find something for those burns."

"The fuck you think you're doing, archer?!" Sandor jumps to his feet angrily. Two men immediately emerge from the crowd and grab onto him. They struggle to hold him back as his hatred directed at Anguy grows.

"It's fine, Sandor," Linette soothes him. "He's helping."

"I ain't gonna hurt your girl." Anguy rolls his eyes and pulls Linette with him across the cave. He shakes his head. "Don't know how you put up with him. I'da put him down long before now."

Linette laughs despite herself. "He's not so bad."

"Maybe not if you're fucking him."

Her smile morphs into a scowl. She elbows Anguy as hard as she can in the ribs. He coughs harshly, letting go of her arm, and she stomps away from him to the other side of the cave, seething. Shaking her head angrily, she snatches his flask from where it lays by the fire and begins washing the soot off her hands. The cool water soothes her skin immediately but does nothing to soothe her temper.

"Guess he _is_ good in the sack, then," Anguy taunts, still coughing, and takes his flask from her. He unties the cloth that hangs from his belt and starts dabbing at her palms. The fabric turns a black-red color quickly. Though it's a kind gesture, Linette continues to glare at him.

"If you don't stop talking, I'm going to kill you," she threatens.

"Think your Hound would get me first," he chuckles, turning her hands over to clean the back. He gives her a crooked-toothed grin. "He don't like me much."

"I wonder why," she rolls her eyes heavily just as Thoros appears by her side.

"You alright, lass?" He lays a gentle hand on her shoulder. She nods up at him.

"I'm fine. Sandor has it worse."

"Don't care about him," Anguy says, making Thoros chuckle. He pats Linette's shoulder fondly before heading over to Sandor where he stands by the fire, glowering and holding his left arm to his chest. His sleeve is pulled back. Linette can see the angry red burns that cover his skin. She's sure they'll scar. At least they'll match the ones on his other arm…

"Here," Thoros shoves a piece of paper into his good hand. The Hound scowls as he looks at it.

"The fuck is this?"

"It says clearly, right there on that note," Thoros points at the words on the top, "You'll be repaid in full when the war's over."

"Piss on that!" Sandor throws the paper into the fire angrily. "You're nothing but thieves!"

"You stole his money?" Linette asks Anguy with a frown. The archer sighs and shakes his head in irritation, turning from cleaning her hands to address Sandor.

"We're outlaws!" He informs Sandor like he's an idiot. "Outlaws _steal_. You're lucky we didn't kill ya."

The Hound growls deep in his throat. He throws his gloves to the ground, advancing on Anguy dangerously. "Come try it, archer! I'll shove those arrows up your _ass_!"

Linette steps in front of Anguy just before Sandor reaches him. She gives the large man a warning look, her eyes hard despite the fact she's staring down a man twice her size. He stops just short of running into her but shoots her a fiery gaze right back. Thoros grabs the back of his armor and yanks him away. He doesn't resist.

"You can't let him go!" Arya's angry voice suddenly yells out. Linette turns to see the girl standing on the other side of the fire, a furious look on her face. She points at Sandor and yells at Beric, "He's a murderer! He's guilty!"

Beric shakes his head tiredly, "Not in the eyes of god."

Anguy beckons to someone in the crowd to come forward. A man emerges holding a long bundle of what looks like weapons wrapped up in a black cloth. Linette recognizes the hilt of Sandor's sword.

"You can't!" Arya screams in a rage.

"Enough!" Beric bellows, his voice echoing harshly off the cave walls. Arya snaps her mouth closed though she grits her teeth roughly. Beric gives her a stern look, "The judgement isn't ours to make. He's had his trial. We must honor the outcome."

Anguy throws Sandor the bundle of weapons. He catches it with his good arm, holding his things to his chest tightly.

"Go in peace, Sandor Clegane," Beric nods respectfully to the bigger man. "The Lord of Light isn't done with you yet."

Anguy takes that as his cue to stomp over to Sandor, one of the black hoods in his hand. He starts to pull it over Sandor's head, but Sandor catches the archer's wrist in the air. His fingers tighten as he glares menacingly at the smaller man.

"The girl goes with me," he growls.

Linette's breath catches. He wants her to come with him?

Thoros chuckles. He leans back with his hands resting on the hilt of his sword, amused. "You're not in any sort of place to be making demands."

Sandor snarls as he violently releases Anguy's wrist. The archer stumbles clumsily over the rocks, but the Hound doesn't notice. He gets in Thoros' face, grabbing the front of the priest's black robes in a meaty fist and yanking him up so they're face-to-face.

"And _you_ aren't in a place to keep her here."

Linette watches, wide-eyed, as the two men glare at each other. Thoros' fingers tighten around the hilt of his sword. He unsheathes it only slightly, not attacking, but enough to reveal a glint of silver. A warning. Sandor doesn't flinch. His massive fingers tighten over the priest's robes, a low growl ripping from his throat.

"Please, Beric." Linette turns to the leader, knowing he can calm the tension. He watches her with interest, his one eye curious. She hurries to his side. "I gave the Brotherhood what you wanted. Probably more than I should have, but I did. You don't need me anymore."

Beric remains silent. He stares at her like he's reading her soul before turning to Thoros calmly.

"She is the one you saw in your visions," he says with a look of understanding. Linette is startled when the priest nods.

"Aye," Thoros says, still staring Sandor down. "Everything happened just as it was revealed to me."

Sandor snarls angrily. "What was revealed to you, priest? That she'd give you cunts what you _wanted_?"

"It was money," Linette says, noticing how he's turned her words. His dark eyes search hers, clearly not believing her. She nods, "Just money. They wanted me to steal for them."

Anguy chuckles, "Took your thief, dog."

Something snaps in Sandor. The most twisted, hateful expression takes over his face. With a ferocious growl, he drops Thoros and rushes at the archer.

"Sandor!" Linette yells as he throws his powerful arm back and punches Anguy with all the strength he has. The archer's head snaps back with a crack. He falls in a heap on the ground, unconscious and bleeding from his nose and mouth. Sandor stands over him, clearly about to hit the man again, but Linette dashes over. She pushes Sandor's chest as hard as she can. She feels small doing so, her shoves do nothing to move him, but the fear for Anguy keeps her palms hitting into his breastplate over and over despite his resistance. He curses her fluently but, after a moment, lets her move him back.

"Why do you want to go with _him_?" Arya's voice calls out. She sounds angry, betrayed. Linette winces. Breathing hard, she turns from Sandor to face to the young girl.

"He's my… friend," she explains uncertainly, not wanting to say the whole truth, "Just as you are. I don't abandon my friends."

"You'll be abandoning _me_ if you leave," the girl points out.

Linette sighs wearily, "The Brotherhood will take you back to your family. I know they will. They're scoundrels, but they'll do what's right. You don't need me."

"And he _does?_ " Arya grits her teeth. Her hands tighten into fists and Linette knows the girl won't listen to anything she has to say; she's too full of hate for Sandor. Linette sighs sadly.

"I'm sorry, Arry."

Beric looks away from the girls to walk to where Thoros is straightening his crumpled robes.

"Is this the girl's path?" the one-eyed man asks.

"Aye," Thoros nods, smiling at Linette, "but we'll see her again."

"You better fucking hope not," Sandor growls, taking a threatening step forward.

Linette slams her hand against his chest, pushing him back as she runs forward. She throws her arms around Thoros and hugs him tightly. He chuckles, wrapping an arm around her waist in an almost brotherly fashion.

"Thank you, Thoros," she whispers into his neck. The man's arms embrace her tighter for a moment before letting go. His blue eyes twinkle as he smiles down at her.

"You're welcome, little lady," he pats her arm fondly then pushes her back, "Now get gone. Don't go finding anymore wolves."

"I won't. I like dogs better anyway," she grins wolfishly, making him chuckle. With one last smile at the priest, she turns around and walks over to Anguy where he lays, semi-conscious in the dirt. She smirks at the stupid look on his face, then reaches down and unfastens the worn, leather belt that holds his sword. It slides off easily. She doesn't hesitate to fasten it around her hips.

"When he wakes up, will you tell him thank you?" she asks Thoros, "For the sword and for everything else."

The ginger chuckles and nods. Linette grins before walking over to Sandor. He looks irritated with her moment of sentiment, but she doesn't care.

Two men approach them with the black hoods. Linette catches sight of Gendry and Arya behind them. The dark-haired man is watching on warily while the girl is still fuming, but there are tears in her eyes. Linette feels a pang of guilt.

"I'm sorry," she says, making eye contact with Arya then Gendry who's kind enough to smile at her. She smiles back just as the hood is pulled over her head.

~8~

The Brotherhood men guide Linette through the woods for awhile. She isn't sure where they're going or even in what direction, but she doesn't really care. She can hear Sandor's heavy boots behind her. His armor clanks as he walks and occasionally utters some curse to whichever unfortunate man is tasked to guide him. Linette smiles at the familiar sounds.

It feels like forever before they stop. The sun still shines behind her blindfold, but the air is cooler, the threat of night hanging close by. She hears the leaves crunch as someone walks toward her.

"You keep on walkin' till you find the horse," a man says as the hood over her head is finally removed. She blinks into the hazy, evening light. The man in front of her points off into the woods.

"He's tied up in a grove," he says. "West from here."

"Don't even think about turnin' around or comin' back this way," the other man warns from her left. He takes off Sandor's hood. "We'll kill you before you even-"

The man's words are cut off when Sandor grabs him around the neck and lifts him off the ground. In one, ferocious motion, he slams his back against a nearby tree as if beating out a rug. The man chokes, clawing at the massive fingers crushing his esophagus Linette's guard forgets about her entirely. He draws his sword and runs at Sandor, ready to defend his friend, but Linette steps in his way, the sword she stole from Anguy in her hand.

"Put him down, Sandor," she orders calmly, staring at the man in front of her, daring him to try anything.

"I should kill him," the Hound snarls dangerously.

Linette's guard tries to rush forward at that, but she steps in his way, clashing her blade with his. Her burned hands sting.

"You don't need to kill him!" she yells as she forces the Brotherhood man back. He stumbles but catches himself.

"They _took_ you!" Sandor bellows from behind her. The fury in his voice makes her eyes widen. She risks a look behind her, turning away from the man in front of her to peer at Sandor.

He's still holding his guard in the air by his neck. The poor man's face is red, slowly turning purple. Sandor's sword is out, the sharp, silver tip now hovering over the choking man's gut.

"I don't care if it was _this_ cunt or a different one," he snarls, pulling the man closer so the blade presses against his abdomen. "The whole Brotherhood can fucking burn."

Linette swallows nervously at his dark tone. She spares the Brotherhood man behind her a glance. His knuckles are white around the hilt of his sword as he stands frozen, too afraid to move. She sheathes her sword before turning to Sandor and grabbing at his arm, trying to yank it down and free the dying man; but the Hound doesn't budge.

"Please, Sandor," she begs, still pulling at him. "Don't kill him. You don't have to."

He works his jaw angrily. His dark eyes blaze as he tightens his grip around the man's throat. The gurgling sound gets louder. Linette yanks at his arm even more desperately, using all her strength to try and stop him. It does nothing, but, after a second, Sandor lets go. The man falls to the ground. He curls into the grass, coughing and holding his bruised throat. The second man rushes to his side.

"I see your faces again," the Hound warns the men, "or any of you Brotherhood cunts, and I'll turn your skulls to splinters."

The second man nods fearfully. Sandor growls low in his throat, blowing hot air from nose, before turning and stalking into the darkening wood. West, toward the grove.

Linette stands there, breathing heavily. She spares the Brotherhood men one last glance before following after Sandor. She doesn't try to catch up. She walks a good distance behind him, watching how the muscles in his back tighten further with every passing moment. He walks brusquely, tearing through the brush, his broadsword still held tightly in his hand despite his lack of need for it. With a sigh, Linette sheathes her blade. She follows quietly behind, biting her lip nervously and walking in the trenches he makes in the grass.

They walk in silence for at least ten minutes before they catch sight of the grove the Brotherhood told them to find. It's small, but in the center stands Stranger. The horse's reins are tied to a nearby tree while he grazes.

"Stranger!" Linette perks up and runs forward. She passes Sandor quickly, not stopping until she reaches the horse. He startles at first but calms when she pets him along the neck.

"Hi, boy," she coos, holding his muzzle in her hands. "Did you miss me?"

Though the horse was never fond of her, and time certainly hadn't done anything to mend that, Linette can't help being happy to see him. He's a part of Sandor. He still doesn't seem to particularly like her, but he lets her pet him for a few moments, something he's never done before. She smiles when he pulls away. Her hands fall to her sides as she watches him graze.

"Come here, girl," Sandor's rough voice orders from behind. She looks over her shoulder to see him standing there with a hard to read expression, his sword now sheathed.

Linette thinks about ignoring him, but something in his eyes makes her move. She _wants_ to go. Her heart pangs and her stomach twists in knots as she stands in front of him. It's as close as they've been since that night in Dawros, but she feels like they've never been further apart. She bites her lip and looks up at him. His long hair falls over his face as he takes her chin in his hand, turning her head to look at her bruises closer.

"They rape you?"

Linette pauses, caught off guard by his blunt tone.

"Tried…" she says slowly. "Arya too."

His lip curls. "Where was the fucking _archer_?"

Linette sighs, her uncertainty about seeing him steadily growing. "It doesn't matter. He came when I needed him."

"I bet he did."

Linette frowns, but Sandor continues talking before she can say anything.

"You should've stayed with him," he shakes his head roughly and releases his hold on her chin, "Be better off."

He turns away to walk toward Stranger. Linette stands there dumbly for a second, then a flurry of anger rushes through her. She grits her teeth. Her hands tighten into fists as she rounds on him.

"Don't you _dare_ walk away from me, Sandor Clegane!" she yells, making him stop. He doesn't turn back to her but looks over his shoulder, clearly surprised at her outburst. She stomps up to him looking kin to a wild animal with her ethereal hair like a mane around her and her storm-grey eyes raging.

"Is that all you have to say to me?" She demands. Sandor's nose flares. A hot gust of air hits her face before he roughly turns away from her, but she isn't about to let him dismiss her so easily. Her fingers claw at the vambrace of his forearm, yanking him back around. She knows he had to have let her do that; there's no way she could have moved him through only her own strength, but that fact doesn't lessen any of her rage.

"You don't get to do this." She jabs him hard in the chest, every word she's thinking pouring from her mouth like a torrent. "You don't get to dismiss me when _you're_ the one who made me feel worthless after I gave myself to you! I spent weeks thinking you didn't care! Thinking you wouldn't even look for me. Then by some fucking miracle, you come back with your _gifts_ ," she yanks the necklace out of her pocket and shakes it at him, "making me hope you changed your mind. But nowyou think you can just _walk away_?! Saying some shit about me not staying with you? What is wrong with you, Sandor?!"

He breathes angrily through his nose. The heat of his glare would intimidate most men, but Linette glares up at him with too much ferocity to back down.

"Do you want me to apologize?" he taunts, his dark eyes glinting. "Is that it?"

"No!" She throws her arms down in frustration, and Sandor becomes even more irritated.

"Then what?!" he snarls, leaning down close to her. His lip curls and his face twists with anger, but Linette doesn't flinch.

"I want you to tell me the truth."

"A Hound won't ever lie to you, girl. He'll look you right in the face and tell you like it is. Ain't ever said nothing that weren't true."

"Then tell me right now. As a _Hound_. Do you want me here or not?"

"That doesn't _fucking_ _MATTER_!"

He yells it so angrily that Linette flinches away. Fury rolls off him like a storm. His dark hair covers the burned side of his face, but she can see the menacing glint in both his eyes. The dark scruff on his face just hides him further, making him seem even more wild. Linette grinds her teeth so hard she hears her jaw crack.

"What the _fuck_ is your problem?" she demands, watching his gloved hands tighten into fists.

"I shouldn't have promised you a damn thing," he spits the words out through his teeth like they pain him. "I said no one would touch you again, but look at your fucking face."

He gestures angrily at the bruises around her nose and under her eyes. She touches them self-consciously. He shakes his head, absolutely livid.

"Someone else could protect you better, could give you what you need, get you to Essos. But you pick _me_?! Anyone without a cock for a brain could see you don't belong with me, girl. I have nothing. Those bastards took my last penny, and all I'm good at is fucking shit up! So do it, you dumb fucking cunt. _Stay_ , if you're that godsdamn stupid. You'll die if you stay with me, but fuck, I won't stop you. Go ahead. See if I care. _Die_."

He puts his back to her, his shoulders hunched as he breathes hard. Linette is breathing equally as hard. The world quiets in the way it does when cruel words are spoken. Hurt covers Linette's face. Her heart twists painfully in her chest as she watches him seethe.

"Is that what you truly think?" she asks, her voice small. His only reaction is a tensing of his muscles. Linette twists her mouth, trying to keep the tears at bay. She tightens her hold over the necklace, wanting to throw it as hard as she can against his back, but finds she can't. Her hand shakes as she shoves it back into her pocket.

With a shuddering breath in, she begins to turn away from him, ready to walk into the forest and never see him again, but finds herself stopping, her body halfway turned.

"Did you even look for me?" She asks, desperate for him to say the one thing that will allow her stay. His hands tighten, making his leather gloves screech. He straightens to his full height, his shoulders pulling back, but he still doesn't face her. She takes that as his answer. Tears pool in her eyes, but she blinks them away and raises her chin, turning her back to him.

She's done crying over men.

Without so much as a glance in his direction, she walks into the woods, heading in the direction she came from. She doesn't know exactly where the Brotherhood cave is, but she can get close. Someone is bound to find her.

She only gets a dozen or so yards away before she hears Sandor bellow her name. His harsh voice echoes sharply off the earth and trees, making her jump. She begins to turn toward him but changes her mind immediately. Her chin raised high, she walk forward with renewed purpose. Sandor's calls continue behind her, but she doesn't slow. She refuses to stay with a man who clearly doesn't care for her as she does him. She won't be the one to run to him.

Linette walks easily through the woods for a few minutes before she hears a crashing through the trees and brush to her left. Stranger's large, black shape appears in her peripherals, but she doesn't stop or turn. It's only when the horse is suddenly in front of her, his angry hooves throwing dirt into the air, that she halts. Sandor's irate form sits on top, yanking at the reins to keep himself in front of her.

"Where the _fuck_ do you think you're going?!" He scowls, his teeth bared. "That was the stupidest thing you could have ever-"

"Well it's fitting then," she interrupts venomously, "since I'm just a stupid cunt."

She begins to walk around Stranger, but Sandor yanks the horse into her path again.

" _Yes_ , you are," he snaps, dismounting in one move and coming to stand in front of her. It isn't a calm presence. Linette glares up at him as harshly as he is at her. His eyes narrow into slits. "Running off with no weapons is pretty _fucking_ stupid."

"Then give me a weapon." She holds her hand out, but he just stares at it. Her jaw tightens as she yanks her hand away from her.

"That's what I thought." She glares at him, her point made, and moves to shove past him. As soon as she takes one step behind him, he catches her arm and throws her back in front of him with enough force to make her stumble.

"How are you this godsdamn stupid?!" He growls, his anger mounting. She can see it practically rolling off his muscles.

"How are you this _godsdamn_ _cruel_?!" She cries, her voice shaking with anger.

"You know nothing of cruel."

"Really?!" The tears in her eyes build as she throws her arms out angrily. "Have you forgotten everything I told you when we first met?"

His harsh look falters slightly, but she can't bring herself to care.

"Fine. Forget that then." She growls. "If I hadn't known cruelty before you, then I certainly have known it after. I'll list it, shall I? I gave you my maidenhood, my _true_ maidenhood, and you cast me aside as if I were nothing. You said _no_ when I asked if you wanted me. You didn't look for me in Dawros. I _know_ you didn't! I sat outside and cried for hours. You didn't even follow me. Then you didn't look for me when the Brotherhood took me. I… I made _love_ to you and you didn't look! I-I thought you cared, but y…" The words die on her lips as she focuses on keeping the angry tears in her eyes from falling.

Sandor suddenly stalks forward. She grits her teeth and looks up. A dark expression covers his face as he approaches.

"I looked," he growls, his voice lower than she's ever heard it before. "I looked in Dawros, then through the whole bloody Riverlands. I followed the Brotherhood cunts for _weeks_. Always a step behind."

Linette is surprised by his words and his anger. She takes a step back, but he follows her closely. Her back hits a tree. She digs her fingers into the rough bark as Sandor stands directly in front of her, trapping her there and glaring down at her.

"So don't you just fucking up and leave." He slams his fist into the trunk above her head. She jumps, her heart racing as the splinters rain down on her. Sandor leans down close to her, his eyes burning darker than normal.

"I won't do it again, thinking you're getting raped and killed by some fucking _cunt._ " He works his jaw fiercely for a moment before he lets out a low growl. His eyes barely close as he calms. His voice is softer this time, "You want to leave? _Fine_. But you ain't gonna wander off by yourself. You wait until I get you somewhere safe."

"Why?" Linette shoots back. She stares at the cruel, dangerous man in front of her. "Why would you do that?"

His eyes meet hers, and she waits impatiently for his answer. He seems to fight with himself as to what to say, but eventually he says one of the only things he could that would calm Linette's anger.

"Because I promised."

Her hair flutters, moved by the shallow breaths passing her lips. She's at a loss for words. Her anger is still there, simmering, but she ignores it enough to succumb to the longing in her heart. No matter how much it hurt her, it never stopped burning. She feels like she did in that alley in Dawros, wishing he would come running to her, but this time, he actually did.

Unsure but hopeful, she rests her hand tentatively over the breastplate on his chest, where his heart lies beneath. He tenses slightly, but she doesn't pull away. She watches him closely, wanting to see some sign, any evidence of the man she'd known before. Dark eyes meet hers. In many ways, they're harsher than she's ever seen them. The sight sends a pang ripping through her chest, but she chooses to take a small step forward anyway. Her neck cranes back further as her fingers splay out against the metal of his breastplate, her eyes burning into his. It's then that she sees it, the flame she hasn't seen in so many weeks. It's dim, barely there but still visible it behind the harshness in his eyes. A small sigh of relief passes her lips.

She doesn't know what they are to each other, but she knows that she wants him. Perhaps it's foolish, but there's something about him that's impossible for her to ignore. It calls to her, _he_ calls to her, quenching the ache in her heart simply by having him beside her. It's still there, the ache, but his comfort is a thousand times sweeter than not having him there at all. Yet, she's not delusional. Though she wants him, she knows she can't make him care for her in the same way she does him. But even still, she'll enjoy what she can.

"Am I still safe with you?" she asks timidly, her eyes never leaving his.

"Aye." His voice is low, rumbling as if only willing to speak to the air by his lips. "Long as you don't wander off again. Stay by my side."

She bites her lip nervously, "And you want me there? By your side…?"

"Only if it's where you want to be."

"It is. I don't have anything. No home. No family. No money. You're the only thing I can count on."

"Don't count on anyone." His voice is hoarse and quiet. His eyes bore into hers, looking weary, wanting her to realize he isn't someone she should trust so blatantly. Not after everything he's done. Yet she continues to look up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. Her small hand presses more firmly against his breastplate, the warmth of her somehow passing through the metal, through his skin, and into his being. Unable to resist despite his own warnings, he lifts his hand. The blood-stained, black leather of his glove swallows her delicate hand beneath his, and he presses her touch more firmly against him, savoring the feeling of her. With him. Safe.

"Just promise you won't do that to me again," she whispers, her eyes earnest as she looks up at him, "Don't make me feel like that again. That's all I ask."

Sandor knows she's talking about that morning in Dawros. About him making her think he didn't want her, that she didn't matter to him. It wasn't something he meant to do, but it happened regardless. Never making that mistake again suddenly becomes a vow, the necessity for it washing over him too completely and too urgently to ignore, and he knows there's only one way to protect her as he's promised. He knows who he is. The Hound. He's brutish and bloodthirsty and cruel. Nothing can change that, not even her, no matter how much he wants it to be otherwise. He won't be selfish this time. He'll do what he should have done the moment he met her.

He turns away. He pushes her touch from him. Her hand falls limply by her side as she watches the flame in his eyes extinguish with nothing left behind but that of a man hardened.

"Aye." He looks away from her entirely and steels himself against the disappointed look on her face, "I won't do it again."

She watches him quietly, fiddling with something in her pocket, but he turns to Stranger, ignoring the gaping hole in his chest to yank the saddle bags off and toss them on the ground. "Get some sleep, girl. We'll make a plan in the morning."

He doesn't wait for her to respond. He lays down on the ground, his back to her and his hand tight over the hilt of his sword. The leaves shuffle as she lays down too. He tries not to think about how far away she chose to lay and closes his eyes, letting the darkness take him.


	29. Crossing the Veil

**CHAPTER 29: CROSSING THE VEIL**

A high-pitched buzzing fills Linette's ears. That's all there is, no color, no feeling, just the buzzing, soft at first, then suddenly so loud it's as if the sound itself shocks her eyes open.

The room is foreign to her. A wave of fear rises in her chest at the realization, but soon recedes as a waft of warmth floods over her skin. The soothing feeling does not match the room's appearance, however. Its only comfort is a fire which blazes in the hearth, heat pulsing through the room and frosting the window panes. Everything else is cold. Grey, stone walls are clouded in shadow; the type of walls so sturdy and so strong that they offer none of the comfort they were built to create. They stretch up and up toward a high ceiling that simply disappears into blackness, emanating more chill than any blizzard. Even the Raven Boy's face is cold. Stoney.

Linette's body lurches then stills, her chest tight.

She can see him. Actually _see_ him. The Raven Boy.

She can see the room too, she realizes with more clarity. This has never happened before. She's never seen this much in her dreams, only felt his feelings and gotten glimpses of what's around him. But now, she can see it all.

The Raven Boy lies on a bed across from the hearth, thick furs thrown over his legs and shoulders. A glimpse of white peeks out from the dark animal skins. Bandages. The starchy cloths wrap around his chest and over his shoulder. He's injured.

Linette hurries to his side at that realization. Or rather, she tries to hurry, but it's as if she's running through the thickest mud. Her feet feel heavy. It takes an enormous effort, but she eventually reaches the bed.

The boy's eyes remain closed as she approaches. His face is pale and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Linette tentatively reaches toward him with shaking fingers and a racing heart, the unfamiliarity of the situation threatening to wrack her composure. The strange buzzing fills her ears again, growing louder and louder with every inch she gets closer to him. She suddenly remembers hearing it before, in the woods when she was attacked. The high pitched sound should be painful, but it's not. It simply grows and grows until…

She touches him.

His dark eyes fly open and everything is quiet. Still.

Linette freezes, holding her breath as her heart thumps wildly in her chest.

The boy's eyes meet hers for a fraction of a second before he shakes his head. She watches his eyes shift focus as he looks through her, unaware of her presence. His gaze flits around the room as he searches for something. Linette drops her hand from his face. He continues to look around. He opens his mouth, clearly calling out to someone, but Linette doesn't hear anything. She frowns, watching his lips in an attempt to make out the words, but it's impossible.

He throws the furs off his legs with a wince. Linette catches sight of another bandage on his thigh, this one stained with red. His starts to push himself up, his face scrunching with pain as he begins to slide his legs off the side.

"No, don't!" Linette rushes forward. The heaviness on her feet grows, but she gets close enough to grab his arm, ready to try and pull him back even if she finds she can't, but the second her touch lands on his bare skin, he startles.

His eyes widen and he freezes. So does Linette. He looks around the room again, calling out silently once more. She lowers her hand as she watches him. Her heart sinks each time his gaze passes over her without noticing her in the least.

"Please see me," she mutters, wrapping her arms around herself, suddenly feeling just how cold the room really is.

A thoughtful expression fills the boy's face. He looks around once more, a critical gleam in his eyes, before he slowly eases himself back into the bed; but he doesn't return to his earlier position. He shifts until he lays on the opposite side, leaving the space closest to the hearth empty. With a wince, he pulls a pillow out from behind his back and sets it beside him. He looks around the room, then to the empty space, staring at it intensely.

Linette knows what he's doing. She inches closer to the bed, confused and unsure if she should comply. She slowly rubs her arms warm with her hands. The silent minutes tick on as she struggles to move, the heaviness on her feet growing into an almost impossible burden.

The boy shakes his head after a while. He sighs heavily, tearing his eyes from the space beside him, and lets his head fall back against the headboard defeatedly. His eyes close, and Linette tries to move quicker. Sweat trickles down her back, the buzzing sound once again growing. It echoes in her ears until, finally, she reaches the bed. She almost feels the soft furs under her fingers, almost hears the bed creak as she crawls up.

The boy's eyes snap open. He turns in her direction sharply, staring intensely at the space on the bed that she's now kneeling on. She eyes him nervously. She doesn't understand what's happening, but somehow, he knows she's here. Well, he knows _something_ is here.

Feeling a sudden wave of courage, she reaches toward him. Her fingers brush his before she grips his hand in her own. It feels odd, as if she's holding something and nothing at the same time, existing just enough to feel a shadow of what's real. A pinch appears between The Raven Boy's brows. Perhaps he feels the same as she does. He looks down at his hand with confusion between his brows. Linette holds her breath as she watches him.

Slowly, he squeezes her fingers.

Linette grins so wide it feels like her cheeks might split. A small smile tugs on the boy's lips before he returns to the serious expression he was wearing before. With a wince and without letting go of Linette's hand, he eases himself down until he's once again laying on his back. Linette hesitates for just one second before she relaxes into the stark-white mattress, being sure to face him.

Her mind is a whirlwind. She doesn't understand what's happening or what has caused the sudden shift in her dreams. At least, she assumes she's dreaming; it's the only time she ever sees the Raven Boy. And, she realizes with a frown, the memory of falling asleep the night before is fresh in her mind: painful. She pushes those thoughts away with a shake of her head, focusing instead on The Raven Boy for the moment.

They clearly can't hear each other, that much is obvious, and he can't see her, but it seems as if he can feel her? At least a small sum.

Curious at that revelation, she gently squeezes his fingers. His only reaction is a small sigh.

Perhaps he can't feel her after all… but perhaps he _could_ hear her if she talked loud enough.

She opens her mouth, about to test the theory, when the boy suddenly starts talking. Her mouth snaps shut. She inches closer to him, trying to read the silent words from his lips, but nothing registers. He might not even be speaking the Common Tongue, she realizes with increasing disappointment. Even still, she watches him speak with apt attention. His face tightens and hardens as he talks. Moisture glistens in his eyes, a few tears leaking and trailing down his cheek, darkening his black hair and the pillow beneath. His hand tightens its hold on hers, the words flowing from his mouth like they've been held captive for far too long. Linette wishes she knew what they were.

Eventually, he's said all he's wanted. He takes a shuddering breath in and closes his eyes. A few tears spill out, but he calms. Linette is surprised to feel her own cheeks wetten. With a sniffle, she pulls herself toward him, resting her head gently on his shoulder and holding his hand firmly. Despite not being able to hear him, she understands clearly.

"I know," she whispers, "My flame went out too."

The Raven Boy's hand holds hers so fiercely, she almost believes she isn't dreaming. She decides then that she doesn't care if she is; he may not be real, but he's the only comfort to her bruised heart, the only constant she has in this world, and the only man who's never broken a promise to her.

With that thought, she sniffles into his shoulder, tightening her jaw until no more tears fall from her eyes.

She'd been thinking of Sandor as her flame, she realizes. It was the most apt description she could come up with, the most accurate analogy to describe the swell of warmth that rose in her chest and her being whenever he was near. All his rejections, all his cruel words and cold-shouldered actions felt like a bombardment of the iciest of winter winds on the smallest of candles. Yet, Linette realizes now, in this moment with her Raven Boy who, despite his tears and despite his wounds, despite the pain in his eyes, still holds a fierceness, a fire in his gaze, she realizes that her flame had always been there. She'd felt it more intensely around Sandor, yes, but he had never been the one to light it. She had. Long ago, sometime and someplace now lost to her. Perhaps it was when she first held a sword, or when she first stole a mare for a moonlit race with her brothers, or maybe when she left home with nothing but her father's sword and her broken spirit, or, perhaps, she realizes, perhaps it had always been there, softly blazing within her.

She wasn't sure, but one thing reigned true: the flame was _hers_ , no one else's, and she'd never again make the mistake of thinking otherwise.


	30. Different

**CHAPTER 30: DIFFERENT**

Linette knows everything is different between her and Sandor, and she knows he realizes it too. After all, he's the one who refuses to look at her. Refuses to even talk to her really.

The morning after being released by the Brotherhood, he moved them far enough into the woods to find shelter, just a small cave really, but it served its purpose. Both he and Linette needed to heal from their burns, though Sandor's were much worse.

After the first night there and her dream of the Raven Boy, Linette spends the next couple days busying herself as much as possible. Or rather, separating herself as much as possible. She doesn't need Sandor's cold treatment and refuses to put up with it more than is absolutely necessary.

And so, she spends her time in the woods instead. Dirt becomes permanently embedded under her fingernails and on her skin though she doesn't mind in the least. The woods are peaceful and still unlike the world around her. She loses herself in the task of finding plants and leaves suitable for making ointment.

It's the same ointment her mother used to make it for her brothers in Grey Motte. They always ended up burned after helping their father in his workshop. Linette was never that clumsy, but she learned how to make the ointment anyway, and she's grateful for the skill now; Sandor needs the ointment twice a day, much to his annoyance, but no amount of curses will stop her from forcing him to take care of himself. Even if his words do hurt.

Being with him is nothing like it used to be. He's much different than she remembers, much angrier and more short tempered than he ever was before. He barely speaks to her, barely even _looks_ at her, and when he does, it's a heat-filled gaze under his heavy-lidded eyes; the look of The Hound instead of Sandor.

His hatred is clear to her.

As much as that fact pains her, she wants nothing more than to demand answers from him, but she's also far too aware of the consequences of that action. She knows Sandor. Any demand she makes will just push him away even more, which is the last thing she wants.

So, she stays quiet. She lets him rage. She lets him curse. She lets him drink himself into a drunken stupor for two days before he runs out of wine and decides they need to start moving again.

Linette watches as he walks across the cave. He's shirtless. The sight of him makes her heart beat faster, a lightness filling her stomach. Her feelings aren't surprising. She's been aware of them for far too long, but they lack their past pleasantness, especially now when it seems Sandor wants nothing to do with her other than to keep her breathing, and she's sure he's only concerned with that because of the promise he made her so many moons ago. The thought puts her in a dismal mood.

"Where will we go?" she asks with a tone that demands an answer.

"Anywhere we can to get silver," he growls as he pulls his tunic over his head. He turns his back to her, toward where his armor is laid out. "Or did you change your mind about _Essos_?"

She scowls at his tone. "Don't taunt me. And don't lie to me. This is about wine."

"So what if it fucking is?" He snarls. "I get wine and you get coin for your bloody vacation."

"It's not a vacation." Linette's teeth grind. He seems satisfied to have riled her up. She glares at him. "You once wanted to join me on my _vacation_ , don't forget."

He scoffs. "Tell a cunt what she wants to hear and she'll believe it's true."

Pain flashes across Linette's face before a heated glare replaces it. "If you're trying to push me away, you're succeeding."

He pauses at that. Dark eyes meet hers, his face is no longer angry but it isn't soft either. Looking at him now, she wouldn't think it ever could be if it weren't for the fact that she'd seen in once before. She holds his gaze for a moment before he turns away.

"Told you I'd go, so I will."

"You didn't sign a contract. You're not my shield. You don't have to."

"I said I'd fucking go."

She pauses, narrowing her eyes at the forcefulness in his voice. "Why?"

There's a moment of silence before he speaks gruffly, busying himself with yanking his boots on. "Don't matter if we keep sitting around here doing nothing. "

Though she wants to press him more, she doesn't. It's the best answer she'll get from him. With a sigh, she changes the subject.

"It's not nothing. You need to heal. Your arm is still raw. The burns haven't eve-"

"I'm fucking fine. Piss off."

Linette bites her tongue with a scowl. Though she's angry and she knows she's right, it won't do well to argue with him. But she does glare at him from her place on the ground. He's attempting to put his armor back on, but his injured arm is making it impossible. He struggles with the straps of the pauldron on his right shoulder.

"Let me help." Linette sighs, wiping the dirt from her palms as she stands.

"What part of _piss off_ don't you understand?" he growls, throwing her a fierce glare before fumbling with the armor again. She watches him for one moment before stomping up to him. He bares his teeth at her when she comes to stand in front of him.

"What did I just bloody say?!"

"I don't care," she answers without meeting his gaze, tearing the pauldron from his hands and fastening it to his shoulder without giving him any time to push her away. He curses her colorfully but doesn't try to stop her. She works quickly and quietly, tightening the straps of the pauldron before moving on to the other one. Sandor eventually falls silent. He stands still as she moves around him, putting his armor on piece by piece.

"How'd you learn to do this?" he asks gruffly as she tightens his scabbard strap around his waist. Her eyes flit up to meet his.

"Blacksmith's daughter, remember?" A tiny, barely-there smile pulls on her lips, the first in days, but it's gone almost immediately as she looks back down. Her face is blank as she busies herself with positioning his dagger sheathe on his belt. "Besides, I've seen you take it off and put it back on enough times to know how it's done."

He's silent. The moment she finishes tightening the last strap, he's moving away. Her hand lingers in the air, in the same position it had been on his waist, before she lets it fall. She sighs.

"Come on," he calls, walking to Stranger. "Let's put some distance between us and the Brotherhood. I can smell their cunts from here."

She almost laughs. Her lips tug upward before dipping down again.

"Are we really going to pretend nothing is wrong?" she blurts out without a second thought, her shoulders squaring with forced courage.

Sandor makes a low, clearly-meant-to-be-a-warning sound deep in his throat, but she isn't fazed.

"No," she pushes, "You've barely spoken to me, barely looked in my direction. Everything you say is angry."

He turns to look at her this time. "When aren't I fucking angry?"

An amused sound escapes her though it has more to do with the fact that he's looking at her than his words.

"I know," she nods, "but I don't want us to pretend that you don't hate me. I can see the truth. I know you're only helping me now because you promised once that you would; you don't have to be afraid I'll think anything otherwise."

Sandor eyes her for a moment. He takes in her serious expression. The fact that she seems so unfazed, so accepting of his hatred, makes him angry. She looks like she hasn't had a proper night's sleep in ages. The bruises on her face have faded into a sick-looking yellow color. Dark bags sit under her eyes which, he hates to notice, don't hold their usual spark. Instead, she's hardened herself. He can see it in the harshness of her gaze and her too-straight posture. It's the type of cynicism and awareness of the world he'd preached as necessary countless times, but for once, he hates it. He wants nothing more than to put some of her old life back into her, but he knows he can't. He doesn't deserve her, but _she_ doesn't deserve what he's doing to her now either.

He sighs heavily before turning to face her. He forces himself to meet her eyes despite the clashing feelings that flood over him at the sight of her: lust and self-loathing, calm and anger, a deep, desperate longing and the familiar hatred he feels at everything around him. He swallows it all down, accepting this as the personal hell he made for himself. The one he deserves.

"I don't hate you," he says gruffly but honestly. She looks genuinely surprised.

"You don't?"

"No," he sighs, "Just don't want you thinking things are there that aren't."

A small wince twists her face before she's stoic again, accepting. The harsh look is back as she nods. "Alright. Understood. Just one more thing."

He growls in irritation. "What?"

"Are you sure you want me to stay? You don't owe me anything. I could go back to the Brotherhood if you don't."

"You're staying, girl," he says forcefully.

"This is your last chance to get rid of me."

"Don't make me say it again."

"Okay," she sighs, her body relaxing slightly, "I won't ask anymore."

She walks toward him, her waist-length curls tied into a crude braid down her back. Sandor watches it sway until she stands in front of him. He doesn't waste time to effortlessly lift her onto Stranger.

"We really need another horse," she mumbles as he pulls himself behind her on the saddle, being sure to put extra space between them. Even still, they both try not to think about how close they are.

He shakes his head. "Don't need two fucking horses. Just more things to take care of."

"It would make traveling much easier though," she points out, "Stranger would thank you."

Sandor rolls his eyes and flicks the reins for the horse to move. "He's a warhorse, girl. You weigh less than the armor I used to wear into battle. Probably don't even notice you're here."

"Well, _I_ notice, and my ass would appreciate not having to sit side saddle anymore."

"Don't care."

She sighs heavily, "Why don't you want me to have a horse?"

He growls quietly, more than irritated that she won't just let this go. His eyes meet hers, and she raises her brow, urging him to talk.

"You'd be harder to keep track of," he explains stiffly, turning his gaze to the road, "Easier for you to cock something up."

"The horse wouldn't just take off. I know how to manage a steed by myself."

"Aye, but you're still not getting one."

"If I find one, you're not stopping me from taking it."

"You'd steal someone's mount?"

"If I have to, yes."

"You don't fucking _have_ to."

Linette rolls her eyes and continues to argue with him. They bicker for the better part of an hour, neither willing to let up for fear that if they do, then they won't talk at all. They'd feel the _different_ then.

The sun is high in the sky now, but they haven't gotten too far. Sandor walks Stranger at a slow pace, truly not in any sort of hurry. The same part of his nature that enjoys fighting also enjoys arguing. It also helps that Linette's fiery retorts comfort him. It's almost like before, like he never fucked everything up.

"You just enjoy control," she rolls her eyes, " _Hound_."

The sound of her saying his moniker sends heat flooding through him in the most delicious of ways. As tempting as it is, he can't give into it.

"Shut your fucking mouth, girl," he growls, sounding purposefully menacing. Her eyes widen as she looks at him. His change in tone is clearly meant to startle her, at least a little. She glares at him before turning away entirely. He lets her be angry. It's better that way.

They travel in tense silence for a couple minutes. Linette looks anywhere other than Sandor. Her fingers twitch every so often, wanting to wrap around his waist like she used to, but she holds herself back. It doesn't help to be so near to him though. She can smell him, feel his heat, feel the strength of his chest behind her. It's infuriating.

Her unending thoughts of him end suddenly. A quiet, but sharp sound catches her attention.

"Did you hear that?" She sits up straight in the saddle, her eyes wide.

Sandor yanks Stranger to an immediate stop. His hand flies to the pommel of his sword as he surveys the tree line. Neither he nor Linette move as they listen. The sounds of the forest carry on quietly. Sandor begins to think she was hearing things when distant voices echo through the trees ahead. Men's voices.

"Shit," Sandor growls in irritation before dismounting. Linette stares down at him with confusion.

"What are you doing?" she hisses.

"Gonna go see what we're dealing with." He wraps his hands around her waist and pulls her off the horse to stand beside him. "I can take care of a couple fuckers, but if it's soldiers… rather not deal with them."

Linette nods as he tethers Stranger to a nearby tree.

"Alright," she says when he turns to her, "Let's go then."

She begins to head off in the direction of the voices, but Sandor grabs her arm, yanking her back. She frowns and gives him a questioning glance.

"You're staying here." He pulls her in the direction of the tallest tree. "Now get on up."

"What?" She blinks before realizing what he wants. She stares at the tree for a second before turning back to him, dumbfounded. "You want me to hide in a tree?"

"You said you were used to hidin' in trees. You a liar?"

She scoffs, "No, b-"

"Right then. Scurry on up, girl. Make a nest."

"No."

He rolls his eyes then leans down to make a foothold for her with his fingers. " _Yes_."

She narrows her eyes. "Why?"

"If I get spotted, best not be seen with you. Especially if it's soldiers. But I'm not about to leave you here. Alone. Just waiting to be found." He gives her a hard look. "You won't be anyone's plaything."

Linette sighs, irritated to concede once again that he's right. "Fine, but you better come back soon."

He nods and holds his hands out for her to step on. The second she does, he hoists her up above his head easily. She grabs the closest branch and pulls herself onto it. Hiding in a tree is familiar to her, but it reminds her of all those months of travelling alone. She peers through the leaves to see Sandor standing about ten feet below, his hands on his hips as he stares up at her.

"Climb up another," he orders.

She sighs but listens. The leaves are thicker up high. They scratch her face as she moves, but she quickly finds an empty spot big enough for her to sit and not get poked. She settles in, her back against the trunk, and looks back down at Sandor. All she can see is his shoulder through a hole in the leaves.

"Put your hood up," he calls from below, "Your hair's like the fucking sun."

Linette snorts. She pulls her hood up, making sure to tuck her mane of silver-gold curls out of sight.

"Good," Sandor says, "Don't come down for no one but me. I shouldn't be long."

"Be careful," Linette calls down before she can stop herself. He grunts in reply.

She listens to the sound of his heavy boots on the leaves until she can't hear it anymore. The forest is quiet now. She pulls her cloak tighter around herself and focuses on the sound of Stranger moving around below her.

Hours pass. Linette grows more and more anxious as the sun begins to go down. She doesn't know exactly what Sandor meant by 'not being long', but she assumes it wasn't coming back after sunset. There's no reason he'd stay away unless he found trouble. Linette tries not to panic. There's nothing she can do anyway. Not now at least. It's dark. She'd just find trouble of her own if she ventured out.

The sun has only set for about thirty minutes when men's calls begin to echo loudly through the trees. Linette holds her breath, her body going rigid as she pushes herself against the trunk. The men sound far off, but there's a lot of them. They're yelling. It sounds like they're searching for someone. She hopes it isn't Sandor.

The leaves suddenly crunch below Linette's hiding spot. Her hand flies to the hilt of her sword. She doesn't move a muscle as the footsteps grow closer.

"It's me, girl."

Linette relaxes immediately at Sandor's rough voice. She wastes no time in clamoring down the branches. She hangs off the last limb, and Sandor takes hold of her waist, lowering her to the ground. Once she's steady, she immediately turns and punches him in the gut.

"I shouldn't be long _my ass_!" she hits him a few more times. He catches her fist mid-air the third time, wrapping his huge fingers completely around it.

"You're smaller than most children," he growls, "Your hits ain't doing shit."

She yanks her hand out of his grip.

"What the hell took so long?" She takes a step back from him and straightens her cloak that's now twisted around her neck from her attempt to beat him. He eyes her for a moment before turning his back.

"Got busy," he says, walking to Stranger.

Linette frowns, about to ask him what the hell that means, but she catches sight of Stranger and the question dies. Her eyes widen as she stares at the small form atop the horse's back. Arya. The girl is glaring at Sandor fiercely.

"What the hell did you do?!" Linette hisses at the large man's back as he tightens the saddle straps at Arya's feet.

"Found the pup," he answers simply.

"I got that part!" Linette stalks to his side and fixes him a stern look. " _Why_ is she here? Did you kidnap her from the Brotherhood?"

He spares her a quick glance before walking to the other side of the horse. "She was running from them. Found her in the woods."

"Doesn't mean you kidnap her!" Linette yells angrily. Arya looks surprised that the older woman seems to be on her side.

Sandor growls in irritation and stalks back to Linette.

"We can argue later," he says gruffly, "The cunts are still looking for her."

Linette snaps her mouth closed, listening to the men's voices reverberating throughout the forest. They sound closer than before. She gives Sandor an irritated look. He shoots one right back then picks her up, placing her on the horse at the back of the saddle, her legs on either side. She's momentarily shocked that he's not having her ride side saddle in front of him, but she quickly understands what he's doing when he mounts the horse between her and Arya.

"Hold on tight," he orders, taking the reins, "Don't fucking fall off."

She rolls her eyes but wraps her arms around his waist tightly. It feels strange to sit behind him. He's massive, his broad shoulders hiding Arya and the rest of the forest from her view.

They take off through the trees. The men's voices slowly disappear behind them. Linette holds tighter to Sandor the longer they ride. The back of the saddle digs into her tailbone painfully, but she can't move forward, Sandor is there taking up far too much room, and she can't move back or she'll fall right off the horse.

"We're getting another horse," she grumbles into Sandor's back as the bruise on her rear gets bigger. He doesn't argue with her this time. She assumes that means he agrees. It's just one victory for the day, but she'll take it.


	31. More Hound Than I Am

**CHAPTER 31: MORE HOUND THAN I AM**

"Sleep over there, girl," Sandor tosses their good blanket a couple feet to the left, "Let the adults talk."

Linette's glare is fierce even in the dark. They've only just stopped running from the Brotherhood with a scared, kidnapped girl and the first thing he does is disregard her so callously? She shouldn't have been surprised, but her annoyance is justified, nonetheless. With a shake of her head, she approaches Arya. The girl's eyes flit around as if searching for a way out. She stiffens, her hands curling into fists, when Linette approaches. The older woman busies herself with brushing the leaves and dirt off the blanket Sandor had so carelessly thrown.

"Here, Arya," she smooths the crumpled blanket out on the ground. "Try to get some sleep. I promise Sandor won't hurt you."

The girl's dark eyes narrow. "I don't believe you. You _said_ you were my friend, but you _left_. You let _the Hound_ kidnap me."

"I didn't _let_ him to anything. I'm your friend whether or not you acknowledge it. Now come over here and stop being difficult."

Arya grits her teeth. Linette thinks she's going to keep arguing, but the smaller girl stalks over instead. She stands beside Linette, glaring down at her accommodations for the night. The light-haired woman sighs.

"I know this isn't where you want to be, but I promise you're in no danger from me or from Sandor." She lays a comforting hand on Arya's shoulder and leans close to her. Skeptical brown eyes meet sincere grey ones. Linette offers the smaller girl a smile. The anger on Arya's face fades into something else. She frowns, a flicker of recognition in her eyes as she looks the blonde woman over carefully.

"You look like m-"

"I know," Linette sighs and drops her hand from Arya's shoulder before the girl can say what everyone always says. She wishes she looked more like her brothers so everyone would stop asking the infernal question. "I'm not though. I'm from the North."

That only makes Arya frown deeper. Though Linette wants to let out the irritated sigh brewing in her chest, she manages a stiff smile instead.

"Get some sleep," she nudges Arya toward the blanket, "I'm going to have a talk with Sandor. Figure out what in Seven Hells he's doing."

A small laugh escapes the girl's lips. Linette smiles down at her where she lays rigidly on the blanket.

"Good night, Arry."

She doesn't wait for a reply. One quick turn and ten angry steps has her standing in front of Sandor, her hands on her hips. The storm raging in her eyes is fitting for the color. He looks up from laying the other blanket and saddle bag down. He quirks a brow, clearly amused by her anger.

"What's got your cock in a knot?"

Lightning flashes in her eyes.

"What the _hell,_ Sandor?!" she hisses quietly so the girl doesn't hear. "What on earth possessed you to go and kidnap her?"

"Told ya already."

Linette seethes.

"No. You didn't," she says through her teeth.

He plops down on the blanket and rummages in the saddle bag, producing a wineskin from somewhere inside. Arya mustn't have been the only thing he stole from the Brotherhood. He takes a swig.

"Aye." He smacks his lips when he's had his fill. "Think I did."

Linette throws her head back and takes a long, deep sigh. She looks at the sky in a 'help me gods' sort of way before snatching the wineskin out of Sandor's hands. He raises a brow as she takes a hefty sip and sits beside him. She slams the wineskin into his chest when she's done.

"Okay. Fine. I don't care _why_ you got her, but tell me," She sticks her finger in his face, "What are you planning to do with her?"

He swats her finger away with a growl.

"She's a _Stark,_ Sandor," she sighs heavily. "We can't just take a lady along with us. Every type of soldier from here to the Red Mountains has got to be looking for her and if she stays with us, she's going to be found. I'm _not_ letting any harm come to her." Her eyes bore into the side of his face with every ounce of seriousness. "So, what are we going to do?"

Sandor rolls his eyes. He takes another swig of ale before answering.

"We're gonna ransom her."

She frowns and leans back from him. Of all the things he could say, she really didn't expect that.

"R-ransom her…?" she stutters. He gives her an annoyed look before drinking heavily from the wineskin.

Her eyes narrow dangerously, "To _who_?"

"Her fucking family," Sandor hisses, irritated with her insinuations, "You think I'm gonna give her to the Lannisters?" He spits disdainfully into the dirt, "Those cunts can die screaming."

Linette's anger dims. She sighs.

"I know you wouldn't give her to the lions..." Before she can stop herself, her hand falls on his forearm in an apology. She freezes once she realizes what she's done. The action is too familiar and she knows it. Sandor eyes her much smaller fingers for a moment before pulling out of her hold with a rough jerk of his arm. A sharp pain pinches in Linette's chest. She swallows the lump in her throat before turning to look out into the dark expanse of trees surrounding her.

"Why ransom her?" She asks, her voice quieter now. "Why not just return her to her mother?"

"I keep her breathing, then Little Wolf's family will pay a handsome sum to get 'er back," he explains gruffly, "Her mother and brother will be at a wedding at the Twins in a week's time. She gets to go home. We get coin. It's a fair trade."

"Should we really be ransoming off little girls?"

"We should if we want to get to Essos."

Linette falters, completely taken off guard. She looks at him, flabbergasted. "Is that why you're doing this?"

He stares hard at her. "Told you I'd get you there, didn't I? Saw an opportunity, and I took it."

"Next time, don't involve kidnapping." She whacks him straight across the chest with the back of her hand. The moment she does it, she knows she shouldn't have. Sandor grabs her wrist mid-air before she can pull it away herself.

"I'll do whatever's quickest to get rid of you." His eyes glow with the heat of the glare he sends her. She tries not to recoil as he throws her touch from him and lays down on his back, his head resting on the saddle bag. Linette's heart clenches with embarrassment and anger. She shakes her head at him.

"You're horrible."

"Aye." He folds his hands over his stomach and closes his eyes, their conversation clearly over.

Linette sits there, suddenly unsure as to what to do. She looks over her shoulder at Arya. The girl is laying down, her chest rising and falling slowly. Asleep. Linette bites her lip and turns back to Sandor. He doesn't move. With a sigh, she shuffles away from him until she's far enough away to feel the cold night air. She curls up on her side, her back to Sandor and trying her hardest not to feel lonely.

She's failing miserably when a soft thud sounds from behind. Her eyes fly open and she turns to see the saddle bag sitting in the dirt. Sandor still lays with his eyes closed, but his head is resting on the dirt now. She pulls the bag toward her, resting her head on it, and lays down facing Sandor this time.

"I'm still getting a horse in the morning," she murmurs quietly.

He snorts. One of his eyes cracks open to peer at her. He sees the serious expression on her round face, her brows raised, and he rolls his eyes.

"Sure." He closes his eyes, getting more comfortable on the ground.

"I am."

He makes a consenting, though disbelieving, sound in the back of his throat. She knows he's humoring her, but she isn't going to play into it. She'll get a horse. With or without his help.

~8~

True to her word, Linette wakes before the break of dawn with every intention of finding a steed she can actually mount. Sandor sleeps soundly a couple feet from her. She tries not to let herself dwell on the sight of his arm stretched halfway between them. He definitely hadn't gone to sleep like that.

Linette carefully gets up. Sandor is a light sleeper, but she's been with him long enough to know how to evade him. With careful feet and slow movements, she eventually stands without having him stir once. A smirk pulls on her lips as she stands above him. He's especially handsome when he sleeps, she thinks. There's no frown to be seen, just smooth skin and peace. Linette has to resist reaching down to sweep the hair out of his face.

She thinks about waking him and taking him with her. He'll be furious when he realizes she went off without him, not to mention the fact that it would be safer to have him come, but she really would enjoy some time alone. It's been ages since she's been without someone beside her, watching her. Besides, she'll get to escape how awful he's been to her lately.

The prospect of an hour or so of solitude is too enticing to pass up. Linette smiles gently down at Sandor once more before turning around. She passes Ayra's sleeping form a few feet away and heads into the woods, her hand never leaving the hilt of her sword.

She remembers passing a small farmhouse not far from where they are now. It was ten minutes ride, so she supposes it'll be about thirty by foot. The forest is beautiful so she doesn't mind the trek. The hazy, morning light paints the leaves gold, reminding her of palace ceilings she's read about in books. She's never actually seen a palace, never seen anything other than her village and what she's seen in the last couple months, but she decides then that the woods are more lovely than anything she's heard in villagers' tales.

It seems not a moment has passed when she stumbles upon the farm. It's modest with a sturdy house, a rickety stable, and a wide expanse of grain fields behind it. She sees a man and who she assumes is his son working in the field far off. They're barely dots on the horizon. A lithe woman hums as she hangs laundry out to dry in the front of the house.

Linette's eyes drift to the stables. Two steeds are kept there, one a large, grey stallion and the other a smaller, tawny mare. She looks back at the woman, the man, and their son. They're all a fair distance from the stables, not close enough to cause an issue for her.

Not wasting any time, Linette sneaks through the trees. Her feet barely make a sound on the ground as she enters the stables. The horses startle quietly.

"Calm, girl," she coos to the mare, letting the beast sniff her palm, "I'm not going to hurt you."

The horse huffs loudly, blowing hot air out of her nostrils, before turning to a pile of hay to graze. Linette takes that as acceptance and runs to the far wall where a set of saddles sit. She picks a dark saddle blanket and the smallest saddle there is.

It takes her awhile to ready the mare for riding. It fuses and tries multiple times to kick her away, but she eventually manages to prepare the horse to ride.

"Not too bad…" Linette grins proudly at her handiwork.

She starts to mount the mare when she suddenly catches wind of the farmer's wife humming. The woman is still a good distance away it sounds like, not close enough to catch the thievery taking place, but the blonde pauses anyway. Soft notes of a lullaby travel across the field, a soft sound as it disperses into the woods. Guilt churns in Linette's stomach.

With a sigh, she rests her forehead against the saddle on the mare's back. Reaching into her cloak, her fingers curl around the last coin purse she stole with the Brotherhood. She hadn't given it to them, thinking she'd need it when she finally escaped, and it seems she was right… but it's also the only thing of value she, Sandor, or Arya have in the world.

"There's never a good reason not to do the right thing," she grumbles to herself, thinking of the notes the Brotherhood had her leave with everyone she stole from, and she yanks the purse out of her pocket. She holds it in her hand for another second before throwing it down in the middle of the stables.

Not giving herself a chance to change her mind, Linette swings herself onto the mare's back. The animal neighs at the unfamiliar weight, but Linette snaps the reins, kicking her to go.

They tear out of the stables. Linette hears the farmer and his wife yelling at her to stop, but she kicks the horse to run faster, knowing there's no way they'll catch her. She rides through the woods, feeling like she's flying. The golden leaves rush by like streaks of sunlight. A joyous laugh passes her lips.

The trip back is very short. Linette pulls the mare to a trot when they're close to where she left Sandor and Arya that morning. The beast huffs, happy to stop running, and Linette dismounts. She gently pets the mare's muzzle as she walks into camp.

"Tell me what the _fuck_ you did, girl!"

Linette's eyes widen at the sound of Sandor's irate voice. She quickly ties the horse's reins to a tree and takes off in the direction of the shouting.

"I didn't do anything! I swear!" Arya screams back, equally as angry, but with a quiver of fear.

"You try to kill me and now Linette is missing!? Don't tell me that's a fucking coincidence!"

Linette catches sight of them through the trees. Sandor has the front of Arya's shirt bunched up in his massive fist, holding her up to his face as her feet dangle a good two feet off the ground. He's glaring at her, his other hand balled in a fist. The girl thrashes in his hold.

"I wouldn't do anything to her!" she screams, "I wouldn't! I think she's m-"

"SANDOR!"

Linette bursts through the trees. The Hound and Arya whip their heads around at her appearance, both looking shocked. She dashes forward.

"What do you think you're doing?!" she demands.

He blinks once before dropping Arya. The girl falls in a heap on the ground, and Linette moves to help her up.

"Where the _fuck_ were you?" Sandor hisses, his hands fisting even tighter.

"I went to get a horse," she snaps as she helps Arya stand, "I told you I was going to."

"I didn't think you were fucking serious!"

"Well I was!" She shoots him a quick glare before looking Arya over for injuries.

"You okay?" she asks the girl.

"Yeah," Arya grumbles, "Not that your dog had anything to do with it."

Linette sighs. Her anger fades to irritation.

"Don't call him that," she shakes her head and drops her hands to her sides, satisfied that the girl is alright.

"Why?" Arya's glare heats as she turns at Sandor, "That's what he is. A _dog."_

The large man's face is blank. He doesn't seem to care about the name, but Linette does. Hearing someone else call him that displeases her in ways she's never been before.

"No," she turns on Arya, "He's a man. Sandor Clegane. Call him by his name."

"Just because you're fucking him, doesn't mean you know everything about him," Arya snaps, shocking Linette into silence, "You may be too caught up in his cock to see it, but I'm not. He's a _dog_. I'll call him what I like."

Linette's mouth hangs open. Her chest tightens painfully.

"Listen, you little cunt-" Sandor starts forward, but Linette throws her arm out, catching his chest before he can reach Arya. The girl shoots the blonde a surprised look.

"Leave it," Linette orders Sandor, her gaze fixed on Arya. She's disappointed. It's clear in her grey eyes and Arya can see it. The girl feels a twinge of remorse, but it evaporates the second Sandor starts talking.

"You disrespect her again, wolf-girl, and I'll cut your tongue out."

Arya's glare blazes, "I don't need a tongue to kill you."

"Try it. I da-"

"SHUT THE _FUCK_ UP!"

Linette's scream has both of them staring at her in shock. She glares at each of them in turn.

"You two are going to stop bickering _now,_ "she orders. "I'm not dealing with your grudges or your insults. You will act civil or so help me, I'll-"

"You'll what?" Sandor scoffs roughly.

Linette's eyes narrow dangerously, the storm raging in them.

"I'll do everything you don't want me to," she hisses. "I don't care if it's trouble for you. I'll do it. I'll make your life hell."

Sandor watches her for a moment, taking in her angry fists and face. Those plump lips of hers are tempting even twisted in fury. Her wild, silver blonde curls blow around her head in the wind.

He's already in hell.

With a growl, he stomps away from Arya. The younger girl smiles triumphantly, but it slips when she sets sight of Linette whose glare is now focused on her.

"You'll be on your best behavior too," she orders, "You think you don't like him now? Just wait until you're riding on the same horse for days on end. This version of him will seem tame. Especially if I rile him up. Which, believe me, I know how to do."

Arya's eyes widen. She's surprised and slightly afraid of this scheming version of Linette. The older woman's warning gaze turns to a graceful smile when she sees Arya isn't going to argue.

"Good," she chirps before spinning on her heels, her hair like a halo behind her. "Now go ride with Sandor. I think you both deserve the punishment."

Arya watches, mouth slightly agape, as the woman disappears through the bushes she came through earlier. Sandor appears next to the young girl, leading Stranger by the reins. He looks at Arya out of the corner of his eye.

"You thought I was the dangerous one?" he snorts. "She's more of a hound than I am."

Arya tears her eyes away from the trees to glare at the large man. "I think she's a wolf."

Sandor shrugs in irritation. "Who gives a fuck? Both can rip you apart."

Arya humphs in annoyance just as he grabs her around the waist and tosses her onto Stranger's back. The horse startles, slamming his hooves into the ground. Arya holds on for dear life. Sandor chuckles as he mounts the stallion behind her. The horse immediately calms.

"Hold on, wolf-girl," he gruffs.

Arya seethes, trying her best to keep her mouth shut as Linette and her stolen mare appear in front of them. The blonde beauty smiles at the sight of them, more in warning than anything else. Arya glares at the trees while Sandor grumbles to himself, but Linette settles back in her saddle. Clouds slowly begin to cover the morning sunlight which she'd been so mystified by earlier, but somehow, the world seems just a little more beautiful now. She hears Sandor mutter some unintelligible curse under his breath, and her smile grows wider in satisfaction.


	32. Watch Your Back

**CHAPTER 32: WATCH YOUR BACK**

Linette smiles smugly as they ride. It's been hours and there hasn't been so much as a peep from her sulking companions. Neither seem any sort of thrilled to be riding together. Arya's permanent scowl could burn down the countryside while Sandor just sits stiffly in the saddle.

The sight makes Linette smile. Maybe Sandor will learn his lesson. That or he'll just be angry with her, which, to her, evens the battle field. His discomfort is nothing but justice, repayment for the way he acted in Dawros and the way he's been acting since. Maybe it's cruel of her to think such things, but she doesn't even attempt to stop herself. For the moment, she's enjoying riding on her own horse like an actual person, not some doll thrown over the side.

"Here."

She turns from her musings and toward Sandor's voice. He throws her an apple which she catches swiftly in the palm of her hand. The juice drips down her chin as she bites into it, grinning at him through a mouthful of the fruit. Annoyance twists his face before he turns away and proceeds to rip into his apple like an angry bear. Linette's grin grows wider.

"Do you want one, Arry?" She asks the girl happily. "We have more than enough."

Arya is quiet. With a frown, Linette turns to see the girl's glare unbroken. She sits stiff as a sword, her eyes narrowed and glaring. Sandor huffs in irritation and leans forward, offering the girl a bite of his half-eaten apple. She spares it one haughty glance before turning to look forward again.

"Sulk all you want," Sandor shakes his head. He finishes the fruit in two bites then throws the core on the ground. "Truth is you're lucky. You don't want to be out here alone, girl. Someone worse than me would find you."

Arya scoffs as they finally break through the line of trees into a valley of green hills. "There's no one worse than you."

Sandor snorts in disagreement.

"There's plenty worse," Linette cuts in, "I've met men who'd stop at nothing for a moment of pleasure. Whether it's sex or killing or both."

"Aye," Sandor agrees, "Like my brother. He once killed a man for snoring. There's plenty worse than me."

Arya makes a loud sound of dissent, but otherwise doesn't acknowledge that Sandor had spoken. It puts a frown on both Linette and Sandor's faces.

"There's men who like to beat little girls," the Hound points out, losing his patience, "Men who like to rape them. Saved your sister from some of them."

Linette's brow raises.

Arya's frown slips. "Y-you're lying."

Sandor scoffs and gives a firm shake of his head. "Ask her. If you ever see her again. Ask her who came back for her when the mob had her on her back. They would've taken her every which way and left her there with her throat cut open."

Arya clearly doesn't believe him. Her glare returns full force.

"He saved me from some too," Linette chimes in. She's irritated at her impulse to defend Sandor after everything, but she also can't bring herself not to. Arya watches her out of the corner of her eye.

"Took down a group of lions who wanted to rape me, then taught me how to fight so I'd be able to protect myself. Kept me safe." She meets Arya's gaze evenly. "He isn't as evil as you think he is."

The girl's eyes harden at that. She spins around, turning her back on Linette to look out at the sloping hills and the slowly nearing river beyond.

Linette sighs. She looks at Sandor who she finds is already looking at her. Their eyes link. The momentary agreement allows them both to pretend, for a moment, that there's nothing broken between them. Sandor's dark gaze seem to burn, and she wishes for the first time since she stole her horse that she were on Stranger's back instead.

"Is that the Blackwater?"

Arya's harsh voice forces the pair to slowly turn from each other. Linette's cheeks burn. Sandor shifts in the saddle, his face taking on his usual indifferent harshness as he pulls Stranger to a stop. Down the slope of the hill lies a wide, winding river below. It carves through the countryside to the left and the right, an expanse of open hills on the other side.

"The Blackwater?" Sandor chuckles in amusement. "Where do you think we're taking you?"

"Back to King's Landing," Arya says, slight panic in her voice. "Back to Joffrey and the Queen."

Sandor scowls. "Fuck Joffrey. Fuck the Queen."

"I'm sorry, Arry," Linette groans. She sighs. "I was too busy being cross with Sandor that I forgot to tell you."

"Tell me what?" the girl looks nervously between the adults. Sandor's the one who answers. He juts his chin toward the river.

"That's the Red Fork. We're taking you to the Twins."

"It's true," Linette nods when Arya's questioning eyes fly to her.

"B-but why?" she asks in utter confusion.

"Because your mother and brother will be there," Sandor responds. "And they'll pay us for you."

Arya frowns deeply, "Why would they be at the Twins?"

"Those outlaws you love so much never told you?" Sandor laughs harshly. "The whole countryside's yapping about it. Your uncle's marrying one of the Frey girls. So, quit trying to bash my skull in and we might make it there in time for the wedding."

Arya smiles as he kicks Stranger to walk again. Linette though, doesn't move. Her eyes are wide.

"Bash... your skull in?" she asks slowly. Sandor pulls Stranger around so he can look at her. There's a wide grin on his face while Arya looks nervous.

"Wolf-girl woke me with a nice surprise this morning. Didn't ya?" he says, nudging her back. "Go on. Tell her."

Arya meets Linette's expectant gaze and swallows. "I was going to kill him with a rock."

The blonde sighs like she's been alive much longer than she has. " _No_ killing each other. With rocks or swords or anything else. We're getting to the Twins in one piece if I have to tie you both up and drag you behind the horses."

Sandor chuckles which earns him a glare from Linette. She kicks her mare to move and takes off past them in the direction of the river. Shaking his head in amusement, Sandor leads Stranger after her.

Arya looks up and smirks.

"Told you she was a wolf."

~8~

They ride for a couple days in relative ease. Sandor and Arya barely interact with each other other than to communicate in a series of glares. But Linette doesn't care about that in the slightest. If they aren't arguing or fighting, then she can ignore them both with almost no effort at all.

Though she is fond of the little Stark girl, Linette can't help but wish she weren't there. At least not all the time. Sandor isn't as friendly around other people, not just to them but to her as well. Not that he's been particularly friendly to her lately anyway. Linette just wants a few moments alone with him. Perhaps he'd warm up to her then… or perhaps not. The most logical part of her mind tells her they're broken beyond repair, but her heart refuses to believe it. Time, she's heard, is the cure to all ailments. And proximity. Perhaps Sandor had been right about only having one horse…

She immediately shakes her head at the thought. It would be ridiculous to squash three people on one horse, not to mention cruel to the poor animal. No. It's best the way things are.

Still, she sighs at Sandor's back. He's leading a couple feet in front of her. Her mare, whom she named Tyrosh after the notorious Free City her brothers often spoke of, follows Stranger at a comfortable distance, most likely intimidated by the warhorse's brawn and temperament.

It's a few minutes before Sandor slows Stranger to barely even a walk. He looks back at her and gestures with his head for her to catch up. She doesn't question him.

"What's wrong?" she asks, pulling Tyrosh to walk beside Stranger.

"There's someone up on the road." He doesn't take his eyes off whatever it is he sees. Linette can't make out much other than a dark blob. She'll add heightened sight to the list of reasons Sandor's moniker suits him.

Slowly, the trees open up ahead. Linette can clearly make out a small wagon. It's filled with things she can't identify and sits lopsided in the road. Barrels are pushed underneath the back to keep it up while an older, stout gentleman crouches down on the left side, tinkering with the wheel it seems.

"Just a merchant," Linette relaxes.

"Don't care if he's a priest," Sandor spits. "It won't do well to be seen. Especially with the girl."

"No one will recognize me," Arya grumbles. Linette nods her head in agreement, but Sandor isn't swayed. He yanks Stranger to a stop.

"What are you doing?" the blonde asks, wary of the look in his eye.

He doesn't acknowledge her. The gravel crunches under his boots as he dismounts then pulls Arya down to stand beside him. Linette hurries to follow his example. Her feet just hit the ground when she hears Sandor growl threateningly to Arya.

"Remember what happens to children who run. We're your parents, and I'll do the talking."

Linette frowns deeply. She sees him hand Stranger's reins off to Arya before he walks briskly to the wagon and the man beside it.

"I hate him," Arya hisses quietly. Linette tears her eyes from Sandor to see the girl holding the reins so tightly her knuckles turn white. Her whole face is fixed into a glare at Sandor's back. Linette sighs.

"He doesn't hate _you_ ," Arya snaps her attention to the blonde who gives her a pointed look before turning back to Sandor. "He may act a beast, but he wouldn't let any harm come to you. Or me."

"It's not us I'm worried about…"

As if on cue, Sandor rears his right arm back and slams it into the merchant's face. The man falls flat on his back beside his now fixed cart. Sandor takes a small step toward the unconscious man, unsheathing a large dagger from his belt.

"Sandor!" Linette yells at the same time Arya rushes forward.

The small girl jumps in front of Sandor, shoving at his chest with all her might to keep him from the merchant. "Don't! Don't kill him!"

Linette runs to the merchant's side. She kneels down beside him, holding the back of her hand over his mouth. Hot breath touches her skin and she sits back on her feet with a sigh of relief, turning her gaze to Sandor who's already looking at her. Their eyes meet, but he turns away immediately to give Arya a hard look.

"Dead rats don't squeak," he says roughly.

"You're _so_ dangerous, aren't you?" Sarcasm drips from Arya's lips. She stands in front of Sandor with her hands curled in tight fists. "Saying scary things to little girls. Killing little boys and old people. A real hard man, you are."

"More than anyone you know," the Hound growls before moving toward the merchant again, his dagger still in his hand.

Linette jumps to her feet. She steps over the merchant to stand between him and Sandor at the same time that Arya steps into his path again.

"You're wrong." The girl's dark eyes glint dangerously, " _I_ know a killer. A real killer."

Sandor scoffs, "Is that so?"

Arya is unfazed. "You'd be like a kitten to him. He'd kill you with his little finger."

Sandor sniffs in boredom. He nudges his head to the prone merchant. "That him?"

Arya frowns, spinning to look at the unconscious man behind her, then back to Sandor. "No… but…"

"Good."

Sandor grips the dagger tighter in his hand and walks forward again. Arya shoves madly at his chest. Linette takes another step toward the two. Sandor's gaze meets hers. His dark eyes angrily take in the two females standing in his way, and he lets Arya move him back.

"Don't kill him!" Arya stomps her foot in the ground, "Please! Please don't."

"You don't have to kill him," Linette agrees calmly, "He's posed no threat and hasn't recognized us. There's no danger here."

Sandor watches the two for a moment. Arya is panting angrily in front of him while Linette stands by the merchant, a picture of tranquility. Like she knows what he's going to do. That irritates him beyond measure, but he still does it. He sheathes his dagger.

"You're very kind," he growls, looking at them each in turn before fixing his hard gaze on Arya. "One day it's going to get you killed."

"Dying for doing something kind is one of the better ways to go, don't you think?" Linette raises her brow when he looks back at her.

"Dying is dying," he spits.

The merchant groans then. Linette spins around to see him sitting up, a hand pressed against his forehead where Sandor punched him. She's about to punch him again when Arya appears. The girl snatches a large piece of wood off the ground and bashes it into the man's head. He falls back again, unconscious.

Linette and Sandor are silent as Arya drops the wood. She squares her shoulders and swiftly walks toward Stranger. Sandor watches her as she passes him, a barely concealed look of surprise on his face. Linette walks to his side.

"You can't just kill your way through life," she watches Arya stomp away. Sandor's jaw tightens as he looks at her from the corner of his eye. She continues without looking at him, "What're you going to do if someone is stronger than you? Or has a better sword?"

"I'll get a better fucking sword," he scoffs before stomping off toward Arya.

Linette sighs at the pair of them. Both glowering and sulking around like a couple of children. She turns away from them with a shake of her head.

"I'm sorry, ser," she gives the still unconscious merchant an apologetic smile. "Today just wasn't your lucky day. Or maybe it was, but either way we're going to steal your wagon. Hope you don't mind too much."

With a sigh, Linette takes hold of the man's arms. He's heavy and much bigger than her. Four or five yanks using all her body strength only gets him halfway off the road. Sweat coats her forehead, but she refuses to ask Sandor for help. Another few yanks later and she's managed to prop the man up against a nearby tree.

"You need to lose some weight," she pants, standing over the man.

A sharp whistle gets her attention. She turns back toward the wagon to see Stranger and Tyrosh harnessed to the front. Arya sits in the back, sulking, while Sandor sits on the driver's bench.

"Come on, lass," he calls, "We don't have all bloody day."

Linette rolls her eyes. She takes her time to walk to the wagon, and when she reaches it, she doesn't sit up front like Sandor clearly expects her to. She walks to the back. A dark canvas is stretched over whatever is in it. She lifts it to see dozens of crates filled with severed pork meat. The smell is awful. Linette wrinkles her nose but picks up the nearest crate.

"Where you going?" Sandor asks, clearly irritated, and twists around to look at her.

"I'm not robbing the poor man of _everything_ he owns," she says pleasantly as she walks to where the pig farmer's horse is nervously standing in the grass. She takes hold of its reins and walks him to his master.

"Hurry the fuck up," Sandor calls to her.

She rolls her eyes. After tying the horse to a nearby tree and setting the crate down beside the farmer, she turns back to Sandor and Arya. A wide, radiant smile pulls on her lips. Sandor looks beyond irritated while Arya offers her a smile of her own.

"Ready!" The blonde claps her hands once as she falls onto the bench beside Sandor.

He grumbles something unintelligible under his breath before flicking the reins. The wagon creaks as Stranger and Tyrosh start forward. Linette settles into the bench. The wood is hard, but it feels nice to not be jostled side to side on a horse. With a contented sigh, she leans back against the cart, allowing herself to sit close enough to Sandor to feel his heat. He tenses but doesn't move away.

"You better not go doing that shit when I'm not there," he mumbles gruffly.

Linette frowns. "What shit?"

"Letting people live. Sticking around too long instead of protecting yourself." He gives a rough shake of his head. "Being vulnerable. What were you gonna do if he woke up while you were fucking around?"

"Hit him in the head again."

"And if you missed?" he challenges.

"Then I'd do what I have to to deal with the problem."

"You don't fucking get it." His hands clench the reins tightly. " _Everyone_ is a problem. You let your guard down for one second, you let someone _live_ , and next thing you find is a knife in your back."

She pauses. "That's why you find people to watch your back." She looks up at him when he doesn't say anything. "Those are called friends."

"Friends," he scoffs, "I don't have friends." Though he doesn't seem bothered by the statement, Linette is.

"Maybe not…" She hesitates for just a second, then bravely slips her hand over his where they hold the reins in his lap. "Yet, here _I_ am."

He doesn't respond. He doesn't even move.

Pain pulses in Linette's chest, feeling almost like it'll swallow her hole. She pulls her hand away. She thought he'd at least consider them friends if nothing else. With downcast eyes, she slides away from him and pulls her cloak tight around herself

"I promise I won't go doing that shit when you're not there," she murmurs, wanting an end to their conversation. She busies herself with looking at anything other than him.

His dark eyes flit to her. He takes in the small-looking, sorrowful woman beside him, very different from the fiery, radiant one he knew, yet the warmth coming off her skin is intoxicating still. He wants nothing more than to take her hand completely in his, to see it swallowed underneath his leather clad fingers. But his fingers have known the weight of a blade more surely than anything else, have been drenched in blood that he himself drew with the last of a dying man's breath, and he knows his touch is less than even the least that Linette deserves.

Without another thought, he straightens up and turns his gaze back to the road, a harsh gleam in his eyes. He can feel her deflate beside him, but he does nothing.

He said he'd protect her, and he will. From everything. Especially the greatest danger to her: himself.


	33. The Twins

**CHAPTER 33: THE TWINS**

"Let's rest here for a minute. I need to stretch my legs." Linette points to the top of the hill they're approaching. She can just see the Green Fork beyond. It cuts through the hills, the Twins on either side of the riverbank. The tall, gray towers aren't exactly beautiful. Black smoke rises in columns above them, darkening the otherwise bright countryside, but Linette is happy to see them anyway. It seems Arya is too.

As soon as Sandor stops the cart on the hilltop, the girl jumps off the back. Her short, dark hair is blown in the wind as she hurries a little ways off, closer to the Twins, eyes wide and mouth panting.

"Don't even think about running, girl," Sandor warns as he takes one of the crates off the back of the cart and sets it down on the ground. He plops down on it, taking a handful of pig's feet out of another crate, "At least not until I've had something to eat. Don't feel like chasing you on an empty stomach."

Linette whacks the man on the shoulder. He gives her a 'what the fuck' look, but she's already walking away from him. She goes to stand beside Arya. The girl is only a few inches shorter than Linette, but Linette feels it's much more in that moment. Arya looks more like a child than ever, her eager eyes wide with both dread and longing. Linette knows the feeling. She turns to look at the buildings on the horizon rather than Arya.

"Would you tell me about them?" she asks quietly

"About who?" The girl's gaze doesn't waver from the buildings in front of her.

"Your family. Your mother and brother will be here, correct? When Sandor spoke about them, it sounded as if he's met them." She shrugs. "All I know of the Starks are stories, but those were from the mouths of villagers with nothing better to do than gossip. I'd like to hear the truth of it."

Arya laughs hollowly, "I don't know. I remember them the way I want to remember them. Maybe gossip is closer to the truth."

There's a moment of silence. Linette hears nothing other than the wind in the trees and Stranger's quiet neighing. Arya doesn't move, and Linette begins to feel she's overstepped in the conversation, but the girl soon speaks quietly.

"My mother is kind," she says, "She never approved of my learning to fight, but she also never stopped me. Not really. She could've ordered me to stop, ordered the masters to ban me from all training grounds, but it never happened. She came to watch me practice with my brothers sometimes, which usually ended with her telling us to be more gentle with each other," Arya sighs, her voice quieting, "I haven't seen her since I left Winterfell."

Linette spares the small girl a timid glance. "How long ago was that?"

Sadness seeps into Arya's eyes. "Almost three years."

The silence appears again, but heavier on the breast, choking. Linette wants to wrap the girl in her arms, but she knows Arya, more warrior than lady, wouldn't appreciate the gesture as a kindness but as a sign of pity.

"What about your brother?" she asks instead.

"Which one?"

"Whichever."

Arya laughs weakly. "Robb is the one who'll be here. The King of the North now. It fits him. He's honorable and clever. Just like my father…"

Linette swallows thickly, "Your father… Were you there?"

"Yes." No hesitation. "Joffrey ordered his head cut off. I was in the crowd."

Linette doesn't think twice to take Ayra's hand this time. She holds tightly to the small, cold fingers, but doesn't move otherwise. Her grey eyes are relentless on the view in front of her. Arya's too. The girl's grip is limp in Linette's at first, but slowly, it curls to hold onto one of the only kind touches it's felt in almost three years.

"What about your other siblings?" Linette squeezes Arya's fingers once, a tiny, playful smirk on her lips. She doesn't want the girl to dwell on sadness. "Who's your favorite?"

Arya laughs this time. A real, open laugh.

"Well Bran and Rickon are too young to really know," she says, "I love them of course, they're my brothers, but I'm closer to my other siblings. All except Sansa. She's always thought me ridiculous, wanting to do things the way men do. We fought…" Her eyes drift, even more distant than before. "I hope she's alright."

Hushed stories fueled by Sandor's rough, regretful voice come to Linette's mind, stories of the Lady Sansa. There aren't many, but the image of a young Lady being stripped in court is enough for her to know the elder Stark sister may very well not be alright. She takes a long breath in, then lets her breath pass her lips as if the air itself can carry away the ominous thoughts from inside her.

"If not your sister, then who were you closest to?"

It takes a moment for Arya to come out of her thoughts. She sighs once she does, looking back upon the buildings in the distance. "Robb and Jon. Mostly Jon."

"Jon Snow?"

Ary bristles, "He's a Stark to me."

"I meant no offense, Arya," Linette says gently, "I lived in the North all my life. The most I've ever heard of him is his title."

" _Bastard_ does not define him," Arya's face is fierce before it softens. A soft gush of wind blows from behind, pushing at their backs, and Arya continues, quieter this time: "I used to spar with him whenever I wanted. He said he was proud of my fight, my spirit. I got into all sorts of trouble. Even though mother and father were cross, Jon always thought I was clever. He crafted a blade for me himself, before he left for the Wall."

"He's in the Night's Watch?"

"Yes." Clear longing fills the girl's face. She lifts her eyes to peer at Linette. A small pinch appears between her brows as she looks over the white-haired woman. Confusion rules her features, but her eyes hold nothing but recollection, the slightest recognition that makes Linette uneasy for reasons uncertain.

"Have you ever been to Winterfell?" Arya's eyes narrow like the simple action could uncover answers.

Linette frowns, "No. Why?"

Arya shrugs noncommittally before turning back to the Twins. Linette's frown deepens, but the whole encounter was a fleeting moment, too vague to be questioned in any logical manner. With a shake of her head, she turns back to the black towers on the horizon.

"You'll be with your family soon." She squeezes the girl's hand as she straightens her back. "I'm sure Jon and Robb and all the rest will be overcome with joy to see you again."

A true smile tugs on Arya's lips.

"It's good to see you happy." Linette offers a warm smile before releasing the girl's hand. "Do you want to eat something before we head off?"

Arya shakes her head. Her eyes are tugged to the Twins in the distance like a magnet to steel, entranced and unyielding. "No. I'd rather stay here."

Linette nods, offering the girl one last smile despite the fact that she can't see it, before turning and walking through the tall reed-grass to Sandor. The large man is exactly where she left him. He's sat atop one of the crates, gnawing on a pig's foot. A pile of bones are scattered haphazardly behind him on the cart.

"Have you stopped to breathe?" Linette hops up on the cart beside him, a teasing grin on her lips despite her new-found nervousness in his presence. He grunts as he rips a piece of meat off the bone with his teeth.

"What did the pup say?" He jerks his chin toward Arya's back instead of answering the question.

Linette sighs, gazing at the girl where she stands across the grass, the wind whipping her cropped hair and peasants' tunic about her. "She spoke of her family. Misses them something fierce, but that's to be expected."

Sandor grunts, "She'll see them soon. No reason to brood."

He offers Linette a pig's foot, but she declines it with a shake of her head.

"She misses them, Sandor. They're her family." He scoffs at her words. His only other reaction is a sarcastic widening of his eyes as he chomps on the meat. Linette frowns, "Don't tell me you've _never_ missed family."

His dark eyes flash, a warning, as he turns to her. Curse and insult lie on his lips, and her hand shoots out to settle on the crook of his arm in an attempt to calm him. It's a natural reaction, one she hasn't had time to train herself out of, but once she's realized the possible issue with her action, she doesn't pull away. Her brow raises slowly, urging him to give her words true thought. His mouth twitches in a snarl before he whips back around. Linette doesn't remove her hand as he eats angrily. The constant presence of her warm, delicate fingers on his blood-stained chainmail irritates him at first, but, after a moment, he gives in. He drops his hands in his lap and heaves a large sigh. The cart shakes as he abruptly leans back against it.

"My sister," he growls, "Alora."

His voice is cutting before it lowers; his tone as reverent as possible for a brash warrior such as he. "She was four… Gregor threw her from the highest window of the keep. I was cleaning the kennels at the bottom. He told me to catch her… laughed really… I was eight. Just a lad. Couldn't have saved her if I tried."

Linette is silent. His last words echo louder than the rest; regret laces his tone, and she knows those words have flowed through his mind many times over the years; words he has yet to convince himself of.

The wind picks up again, sending her hair flying and spreading goosebumps on her skin. Without thinking, she slides her hand down the metalled steel on Sandor's arm to take his gloved hand. The pain in her stomach sharpens when he doesn't relax at her touch. It seems to only make him angrier.

"It's okay to miss her," she offers quietly, trying to tame him as she once could. Her gaze fixes on the side of his face which only twists at her words. "The bonds of family run deep."

He laughs condescendingly. "Still going to slit my brother's throat one day."

"The world will be better for it."

A true laugh escapes him at her words. She grins widely at the rough, honest sound, and sinks into it. She rests her head on his shoulder. She knows she shouldn't, that he'll most likely lash out, but she'd be lying to herself if she didn't try to fix what's broken. It isn't in her nature to lie down when told to. The unease and anxiety in her stomach lessens as she dares to let herself hope.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he growls, his body going rigid.

Her heart and stomach drown.

"Enjoying your company," she responds meekly. She can't find the strength to move though she knows she should.

" _Don't_." His shoulder is jerked from underneath her, and she falls. Her desperate hands catch onto the edge of the cart, barely managing to keep herself from falling face first into his lap. Embarrassment colors her cheeks.

"You don't have to be so rude," she snaps as she rights herself, trying to gather what little dignity she has left.

"Shut the fuck up." He growls before biting angrily into the pig's foot.

" _Fine_." She stands, desperate to be away from him and the pain. He continues to eat like he doesn't care at all about anything she says. Her eyes narrow. The drowning feeling in her stomach turns hot. Her heart burns for answers, for an explanation, and she can't find a reason or a strength to stop herself from speaking.

"Is it your intention to hate me as passionately as you seem to?" Her voice is a demand, one Sandor is unaffected by. She imagines her voice isn't as moving, isn't as commanding as the voices of the kings and queens and princes he's been given orders from in the past, but she knows she isn't powerless. He listened to her voice before, and she'll make him do so again even if it isn't for the same reasons.

Her shoulders pull back as she stands before him, every ounce of emotion strengthening her stance. Wild though it may be, her mane of hair shines about her, drawn out by the wind like the raising hackles of an animal. It flashes across the blaze in her eyes as she stares down the man before her.

"Is there nothing between us then?" The bluntness of her question has his gaze flashing to hers. Their eyes meet. In the past, it would have had them both softening, their fingers yearning to feel the other's, but now, it hardens him. Grit teeth and harshness stare back at Linette. Sorrow washes over her, but she refuses to let it take root. The wind picks up as she raises her chin.

"Is that it?" She asks, "After everything, you cast me aside as nothing more than a stranger?"

"Never been anything else." Sandor's harsh gaze is unrelenting and foreign. Nothing shines behind his eyes. They're dark and gleaming, akin to a wild animal's: seeing yet not caring beside that which would harm it. Perhaps he's decided she would.

She lets herself feel the pain for only a moment.

"Alright," She moves on, decided now for herself that she doesn't care what his reasoning is. He's made his choice, and she knows she can't change it. She never had that power in the first place. "When Arya finds her family, I'm staying with her. You won't have any reason to feel obligated to me. You won't have to put up with me anymore, and I'll be free of whatever it is that you've become, because it _definitely_ is not the man I knew. _Not_ Sandor."

"You think you know me, girl?" he snarls, turning his warrior's body and harsh, gleaming eyes toward her. "A couple months of traveling and one, _decent_ _fuck_ doesn't mean you known someone, least of all me."

He turns away from her without another thought. Linette stands there, her eyes piercing into the side of his face, willing those words to have been lies. But they aren't. She knows they aren't. Her chin trembles. Pain of the purest kind rips through her heart, shaking her ribs and her soul entirely. Not even that morning in Dawros equals the agony of his words. Despite all her resolve to be strong, to heed Anguy's urging and show Sandor that she isn't worthless, she turns like a scared child and flees his company. She falls onto one of the large barrels in the back of the cart, her eyes hard on the horizon as she wills herself not to let the moisture in her eyes spill. A wineskin lays on the bench behind her. Her eager fingers grab it eagerly. She drinks with the familiarity of a drunk, desperate as she looks anywhere other than Sandor, searching for _anything_ else to think about. Her eyes land on the hill in the distance. Arya stands at the edge looking small. Her silhouette is dwarfed by the Twins' enormity even at a distance.

"Arry," she calls. Her voice shakes but it gets the girl to turn to turn her head. "Come here. It doesn't do well to be alone."

Arya clearly hesitates, but she walks toward the cart regardless. Linette smiles as best she can. It must look convincing because the younger girl returns the gesture. The smile fades though when she gets near enough to see Sandor. The man is somehow still eating.

"No one's going to believe you're a hog farmer if you keep eating them all." She stops a few feet from the man to cross her arms and fix him a disapproving look.

He shakes a mostly eaten pig's foot at her. The skin flops in the air. "Best part of the animal."

Arya turns away in disgust. Sandor isn't bothered in the least and simply continues to eat his fill. Linette leans toward him, anger coursing through her.

"I know you may have forgotten the meaning of the word, but try and remember what _nice_ means," she hisses. He gives her an irritated look which she returns with a lock-jawed gaze.

Sandor glares, growling under his breath, and turns away from her. Her eyes turn back to Arya. The small girl is once again fixated on the Twins, her breathing ragged and her shoulders tense. Linette wants to say something comforting, but before she can, Sandor heaves a sigh and turns toward the girl.

"Don't worry, they're still there," he says. His voice remains gruff, and Linette knows it's foolish, but she hopes he's attempting to do as she asked.

Arya turns her head to give Sandor an irritated look. "I know they're still there."

Sandor takes a massive bite off the pig's foot, "You check every five minutes like you're afraid they're going to move."

"I'm not afraid," Arya turns fully to Sandor now, her shoulders held straight in what Linette recognizes immediately as an attempt to look stronger than she feels.

"Course you are," Sandor fixes the girl a firm look, his dark eyes piercing, "You're almost there, and you're afraid you won't make it. The closer you get, the worse the fear gets." Arya clenches her jaw and raises her chin defiantly. Sandor narrows his eyes at the action. He leans toward Arya, his gaze even more penetrating than before, "No point in trying to hide behind that face. I know fear when I see it. Seen it a lot."

Arya's gaze flickers with uncertainty. Sandor nods firmly, his point made, and falls back against the cart again. It shakes under his weight. He takes an aggressive bite of the pig's foot, and Linette sighs. She knows he's irritated; he hates liars. She understands why Arya lied though. Fear is difficult to admit for an adult, let alone for a child.

"I knew fear when I saw it in you," the girl says suddenly. Linette looks up to see Arya fully facing Sandor, a smug, dangerous expression on her face. Her eyes narrow. "You're afraid of fire."

Linette freezes. It seems the whole countryside does. The grass stills as the wind dies down. It's strangely quiet. She apprehensively looks at Sandor. His hands have stilled in the air, his jaw working slowly as he chews, and his eyes darker than normal as he watches Arya closely.

"When Beric's sword went up in flames," Arya says, slow and deliberate, "you looked like a scared little girl, and I know why too."

Sandor stares, the pig's foot in his hand forgotten and his face blank, as Arya closes the distance between them. There's an almost gleeful look in her eye, swirling in with the hate. "I heard what your brother did to you. Pressed your face to the fire like you're a nice, juicy mutton chop."

"Arya!" Linette snaps, her eyes flashing dangerously at the girl, "How could you say such an aw-"

Sandor cuts her off with a raise of his hand. She immediately bites her lip though her hands ball into fists. Every muscle in Sandor's back is tense. His anger simmers as he slowly lowers his arm then leans toward Arya.

"That give you some ideas?" he growls. Arya narrows her eyes. She holds his gaze for a moment before turning back to look out at the Twins.

"It might do," she mumbles.

Linette is shocked. She can't believe the girl could be so vicious. She's about to snap at her again, but Sandor lets out a low growl as he sneers at Arya's back.

"Go ahead then. Run. Might get away," he tears into the pig's foot, "Might even make it there on your own. They're just over the river." He leans toward her, his eyes gleaming and a snarl on his lips. He wants to make her angry, "Closest you've been to family since Ilyn Payne snipped your daddy's neck."

"What is wrong with you?!" Linette is horrified. She whips her head around to give the man a hard glare, but his attention is fully on Arya who's turned to him too, loathing in her eyes.

"Someday I'm going to put a sword through your eye and out the back of your skull." As soon as the words are out of her mouth, the girl is walking across the hill to stare out at the Twins again.

Linette shakes her head in disbelief. She sees Sandor slowly chewing beside her. He's watching Arya, surprise and respect on his face.

"Girl's got some balls," he mumbles, "People usually have more sense than to threaten me."

"She's not afraid of you," Linette snaps. Any anger she's ever had for him is concentrated in her voice, in her eyes, and in her heart. "You're a man, and men _die._ They can be killed by swords and blades, by knights and kings, _and_ by _little girls._ Keep earning her threats and she may follow through one day. I don't think I would even stop her."

Without another look in his direction, Linette walks away from him. She wills her head and heart to burst, to bleed dry so she can't feel anymore. Her companions' hatred of each other is hard to stomach. She wonders how long it'll be until Arya puts her threats into action. What will she do then? Despite her rage, Linette knows she'd never be able to harm Sandor, no matter how much hatred he seems to have for her, but she would never let him hurt the Stark girl either…

An ominous feeling sinks into her chest, a realization that she might have to chose one day, and with the way things are going, she knows who she'd have to pick.


	34. The Red Wedding

**CHAPTER 34: THE RED WEDDING**

For three days, silence is their only companion. Though they travel beside one another, no words are spoken between them. They divert to watching the countryside pass by: Sandor apathetically, Arya with shifty, nervous eyes, and Linette with a tiredness she hasn't felt since being alone in Dawros.

Night falls by the time they come upon the Twins. The noise of drunken soldiers singing and yelling echoes through the blackness, sounding clipped and strange in the night. Scattered torches are the only thing to break the complete darkness outside the castle. By their light Linette can see the stone tower sigil hanging from the castle walls and the grey direwolf sigil raised high amidst the large encampment of tents. Two houses. Two armies.

Without another thought, Linette reaches into the back of the cart to grab the night-black cloak the pig farmer left.

"Put this on." She thrusts the scratchy material into Sandor's arms. He gives her a questioning look and lets the cloak fall to the floorboards of the cart. With a huff, she picks it up again and yanks it over his head. "You're too recognizable with the soldiers around. Someone's bound to notice you."

Sandor shakes her off with a cruel wave of his arm. She falls back onto the bench with a scowl, about to snap at him, but holds back when he pulls the cloak on fully, yanking the hood up so it settles around his head and hides his face in shadows. She gives a nod of approval before pulling her own hood up and crawling into the back of the cart with Arya.

"Stay low," she orders, pulling the girl down with her into a crouch, "Sandor will get us through the gates."

Arya barely manages to hide her nervousness. "Are you sure?"

Linette turns to see her brown eyes wide with obvious doubt. She rests a hand on Arya's shoulder. "I'm sure. And if I'm wrong, then we'll find another way to get you to your family. We won't give up."

Arya nods her head, finding comfort in the older woman. Linette tightens her arm around the girl's shoulders.

They pass hundreds of tents outside the walls of the Twins. Frey soldiers and Stark soldiers mingle together, though the Frey men seem much more subdued than their Northern counterparts, driven by a difference in drink.

Why would only one side be celebrating as such? Linette thinks, a sinking feeling settling in her gut. It only deepens when Sandor pulls the cart up to the castle gate. They're stopped by two soldiers with torches, each wearing Frey armor and a scowl. One stops to talk to Sandor while the other slowly circles the cart, his eyes sharp as he inspects it.

"Where you going?" The first soldier asks Sandor roughly. The large, cloaked man nods his head to the cart.

"Got salt pork for the feast," he says, his voice taking on a strange, almost Northern sound. Linette allows herself to be impressed for a moment before her attention is pulled to the other soldier who's standing beside the cart on her right. She watches him carefully.

"The feast is over," he states, picking up the tarp to see what's underneath. Linette doesn't respond, preparing for him to do something. The noise of festivities grows louder suddenly, distracting him, and he drops the tarp to quickly head to the front of the cart. The sound of clanking metal grows loud before a small group of armed Frey men march from inside the castle toward the encampment, their boots stomping through the mud.

"Doesn't sound like it's over." Sandor's voice is filled with accusation as he watches the men run past.

"If I told you it's over, _it's over_." The first soldier takes a threatening step toward Sandor, "Turn this cart around and get the hell out of here."

Arya suddenly squirms out of Linette's grasp. The blonde woman turns sharply, catching the girl's arm before she can slip off the back of the cart.

"What are you doing?!" she hisses, keeping her voice low as she leans toward Arya.

"They're not letting us in!" The girl's eyes are frantic. She yanks her arm out of Linette's grasp. "I'm getting through those gates one way or another. Come with me if you want."

Linette tries to catch her again but comes up empty when Arya slides off the cart, her feet silent as she slinks into the crowd of drunken men. Linette's heart pumps beneath her chest. She looks at Sandor's back, hears the soldier call him a vulgar name, then turns back to where Arya just disappeared between two tents.

"Fuck it all," she curses angrily and jumps off the cart. She takes off in a full sprint in the direction Arya disappeared in. Being inconspicuous isn't her priority at the moment; It's finding Arya before any of these men do.

She slips through the throng of soldiers quickly. Some try to stop her, but she dodges them easily, her eyes never ceasing from sweeping the crowd for the small girl with cropped hair. It isn't long before she comes to another gate into the castle walls. It's smaller than the other one but less guarded. Knowing Arya would want to head inside, she does too, but not before she yanks a Frey banner out of the ground.

With the banner in hand, marking her as friend, she walks through the gate as confidently as she can. The walls are lined with barrels of sweet wine; she can smell its scent over the heavy smell of ash and mud. Beyond the walls to the right is a stone archway, an entrance into the castle. She hears men's voices echoing from inside and hopes to every god there is that Arya hadn't gone in. She focuses on what's in front of her instead.

Across an expanse of muddy ground are a half dozen or so horse stalls illuminated only by a handful of torches hung on the castle wall above. They're mostly empty except for the left-most one.

Soft growls and whines come from the stall. Linette usually wouldn't allow herself to become distracted, but a nagging sensation urges her toward the stall. She walks tentatively toward it but stops immediately when a force slams against the door, making the wood creak and shake under its weight. An animal's face appears through the slats. A direwolf. Massive with a coat of grey and white. Vicious snarls rip through its throat, its gleaming white teeth snapping the air.

The now familiar high-pitched buzzing fills her ears. She feels eyes on her, but isn't worried. She knows who's watching her.

Though Linette is slightly frightened in the presence of the direwolf, she can't help but walk forward. Something about the wolf feels familiar. Its growls become louder, more threatening, as she approaches, but they stop when Linette comes to stand only a few inches from the stall. The buzzing quiets. She feels the familiar, phantom presence beside her, and it only emboldens her. From inside the cage, yellow eyes stare into hers with a calmness she doesn't understand. She suddenly feels the urgent and unceasing necessity to release the wolf.

Without thinking twice, she drops the Frey banner on the ground. The cloth is immediately darkened by mud. The phantom hand covers hers, quiding her as she lifts the latch and throws the stall door open. A smile fills her lips as she stands before the giant animal, but it falls quickly. The wolf growls again, its white teeth bared and gleaming. A primal fear sinks into her belly and she hurries to take a step back, only to immediately be thrown to the side with the force of an arrow piercing through the back of her shoulder.

Blinding pain rips through her. She falls into the mud, dirt and blood soaking her tunic as she hisses through her teeth. The wolf vaults over her, snarling, and she watches in equal parts relief and horror as it sinks its teeth into the Frey soldier who'd leased the arrow, first his arm then his throat. The man screams as he's killed.

It's then that Linette notices another three men with crossbows. They aim at the wolf. Without any true thought, Linette jumps up, drawing her blade despite the angry protest of her wound. She makes quick work of the archer closest to her. In one strike, she slices his crossbow in two. The second cuts into his neck until it hits bone. She sees the flap open unnaturally, blood spewing out as the man falls to the side, before she spins on her heels. Crimson soaked mud sloshes onto her trousers as she sinks her blade into the second archer's back. The tip appears through his chest, silver and ruby shining in the moonlight. Another man screams. It and the wolf's growls make her turn just in time to see the animal rip out the third man's throat in one vicious bite.

Linette breathes heavily when his cries cease. It's silent, the danger over for the moment. The wolf shakes his head as if in a rage, droplets of blood flying from his muzzle. Yellow eyes meet hers for one moment, seeming almost like a look of thanks, before it turns and sprints toward the Stark camp, taking down any Frey men unfortunate enough to cross its path. Linette thinks about following it, but the sounds of clanking armor and stomping boods from behidn her has her ducking behind a small pile of barrels.

A whole squadron of Frey soldiers march past her and out the exit the castle, running toward the camp. Men's screams fill the air. Steel clashing against steel intermixes with it.

Suddenly, as she crouches behind the barrels, a battle being waged to her left and a castle of armed men to her right, she feels terror for the first time. She's never been in a battle before, not true battle. The men's screams are unnatural. Her shoulder flares in pain with every frantic beat of her heart. The arrow is still lodged in her skin. She can feel it, all too aware of the flint jammed through her muscle just below her shoulder blade. Hot blood drips down her arm, and she knows she needs to find Arya. Who knows how the girl has fared if she herself is injured as she is.

That thought silences the terror enough for her to push herself to stand. She grips the hilt of her sword, knowing her life depends on it, and runs as fast as she can through the castle gates.

Absolute chaos greets her. Blood covers every inch of the ground, flowing through the dirt like a thousand small rivers. The whole expanse of fields are on fire as far as she can see. Orange flames lick the air, seeming as if the night sky has been set alight. Men wail from inside tents as they're burned alive. The sickening smell of burnt flesh singes her nose. Terrified tears fill Linette's eyes, but she makes herself keep running, cutting down anyone who tries to stop her along the way.

Her hood has long fallen off her head. Leering smirks and sick words flow freely because of it, but it only makes her fight harder. Blood that isn't her own coats her face and clothes by the time she sets sight on the boundary of the camp. The sight of it sends a desperate hope flooding through her. She rushes toward the treeline, wanting nothing more than to be away from this place, but two Frey soldiers appear in front of her, lust of every kind in their eyes.

Linette quickly stops. She's ready to fight these men, but before either of them can move, they're cut down. Both fall face first into the dirt, deep, seeping caverns carved into their backs. Linette's eyes widen.

An enormous black horse appears in front of her. She doesn't have time to take it in before someone grabs hold of the back of her tunic and cloak, yanking her up. She lashes out instinctually, adrenaline coursing through her veins.

"Calm, girl!"

She stills immediately at the rough voice. Uneven, relieved breaths pour out of her as Sandor shoves her into the saddle in front of him and behind an almost catatonic Arya Stark.

"Thank the gods," Linette breathes, her whole body sinking with relief. She wraps her arms around the small girl. Arya buries her face in Linette's tunic, not caring about the blood and gore that cover it. The blonde hisses in pain as the arrow that's still in her shoulder is pressed further in, but she doesn't say anything, choosing instead to be grateful to find Arya unharmed.

Sandor secures both arms around the girls in his protection. He holds tight and shoves his heels into Stranger's sides, kicking the animal to the fastest run it can manage. They burst through the trees, the sounds of screaming and the clash of blades slowly disappearing behind them. The sounds ring in Linette's ears anyway. She sinks back into Sandor, desperate enough for the feeling of him around her, for safety, to ignore how the action shoves the arrow deeper into her shoulder.

Pain and exhaustion settle in her bones. She watches the black forest fly by. Her eyes droop. She vaguely sees a flash of gray through the trees, a pair of yellow eyes on her, before she falls into the blackness.

~8~

She drifts in and out of consciousness.

Blinding pain is what jolts her awake the first time. She desperately tries to get away from it, her fingers clawing in the dirt, but a firm, strong hand holds her injured shoulder down. An all-consuming burn sinks onto her skin and deep into her muscle.

"Stop," she gasps into the dirt, feeling like she's being torn apart. Tears flow down her cheeks. Her tunic is soaking, the strong smell of wine and sweat surrounding her as the fabric over her shoulder is yanked further down. More wine is poured on her wound. It's hot, obviously boiled. Burning her skin. It's unlike anything she's ever felt before. A scream passes her lips as she digs her fingers into the dirt.

"I know it hurts, little bird." Sandor's voice above her makes her cry even harder. It's the first time in what feels like a lifetime that she's heard something even resembling kindness from him. That alone cuts her to the core, but even more are those soft words, spoken only in that deep yet warm voice of his: little bird. It's the first time he's uttered those words since she ordered him not to. The sound of them now causes her chest to rip open. Tears of sadness mix with the tears of pain, then, ones of embarrassment. She doesn't want him to see her like this. Weak and writhing in the dirt.

His hand holding her shoulder down finds a better hold, the wine ceasing for a moment. "I'm almost done. Keep your eyes open."

Then, the scalding liquid is back on her shoulder. She can't see it, but she knows Sandor has sacrificed all the wine he has. She feels it on her skin, searing through her muscles and deep into the gash, the boiling liquid burning away any potential for infection. Her eyes are open and wide with pain, yet her back and shoulder go mostly numb. She can no longer cry. Her body goes limp in the dirt. She barely feels when Sandor begins stitching her up. Her eyes start to droop as he ties off the stitches.

"Don't you fucking dare go to sleep." His growl is harsh. She tries to listen, but all she can manage is a fluttering of her eyelids, exhaustion overcoming her.

He jostles her roughly then, shoving his arms underneath her body and yanking her up, cradling her to him as if she were glass. The pressure on her wound flares. She whimpers but opens her eyes. Sandor's gruff, stern face fills her vision, his animal eyes breaking into something more human. He holds her in his lap, one arm carefully propping her back up as the other checks the front of her shoulder to see if the arrow pierced all the way through. He finds only smooth, dirty skin.

"Where's Arry?" She mumbles wearily as he pulls her sleeve back over her shoulder. She tries to look around, but the simple action sends a wave of exhaustion through her. Her forehead hits his shoulder, a shudder passing her cracked lips as she loses the energy to keep her head up.

"Wolf-girl's fine," Sandor replies curtly as he stands. He cradles Linette's small body to his chest, his thick arms holding her to him, and hurries to where Stranger is tethered to a nearby tree.

As he walks, she catches sight of a long dead campfire. Four bloody bodies lay around it, one with multiple, oozing stab wounds on his face. Linette starts to panic, thinking Sandor lied about Arya, but she quickly catches sight of the girl sitting atop Tyrosh. Her brown eyes look worriedly back at her.

"Thank you, Sandor." A weak smile pulls on Linette's lips. She uses the last of her energy to turn her head to the giant man. His rich, brown eyes meet hers, all kin to an animal erased, and she sinks into the comfort of them before her whole body goes limp in his arms.

~8~

Sleep brings an all-consuming rage blasting into Linette's chest. It burns hot as magma, a sick, teeth-grinding, eyes-watering, heart-bursting type of anger that couldn't be contained even by the most even-tempered person. It leaves Linette gasping. She feels it almost as perfectly if it had been her own rage, but it isn't. It's his.

Through the throbbing anger, Linette can see the Raven Boy. His hands are fisted, his back coiled so tightly it's clear that's all that keeps him from bursting. There's someone else in the room, but Linette can't bring herself to focus on whoever it is. She watches the Raven Boy as he nods sharply, his eyes swimming with pain and fury, then, the door closes. He's alone.

In one motion, he spins around, fisting his hands in his hair like he's going to rip it out at the roots. Tears flow down his face though he doesn't seem to be making a sound. His emotions pour out of him, the rage building in his muscles and the sorrow spilling from his eyes.

Linette reaches out to him, wanting to comfort him, but it's that exact moment that the Raven Boy turns and kicks a wooden chair with all the power he has. It breaks into splinters. The shards haven't even stopped bouncing across the floor when he slams his hands on a nearby desk, his fingers curling around the edges as if he's trying to snap off a piece. His head is bent, dark curls obscuring his face as his back heaves with sobs.

Gone is the buzzing sound and the heavy-footed feeling Linette felt before. Nothing stops her as she sprints across the room, her arms wrapping around his waist without a second thought. He doesn't seem to notice her this time. She holds him anyway.

Linette can't hear him, but she feels him down to the core. Rage simmers angrily on the surface, but below it is the most cavernous emptiness, a shard of nothingness that threatens to take over everything else. That frightens him more than anything, but Linette knows he'd never give into it because below the rage and the sorrow and the emptiness is the most righteous of vengeances and a mantra that repeats over and over.

Someone is going to pay.

~8~

The next time she wakes she doesn't know how long it's been since the last. It's as if she's in a long, dark tunnel underground. It doesn't yet feel like she's come out of her dreams. Everything is hazy and thick in her head, but she can make out something through the nothingness. Voices. At first, they're muffled; only broken speech reaches her ears, until slowly, the noises become words.

"You better wake up, girl. You hear me?" A bass voice shakes. Sandor. The deep sound fills her head, and although it's fueled with anger, the familiarity of it spreads warmth in her chest, anchoring her in the darkness. "Open your fucking eyes. What the bloody hell are you waiting for?"

"Maybe for you to stop threatening her." Arya's tone is biting. Linette tries to turn toward it, eager to see proof of the girl still unharmed, but finds she can only listen, her body as if suspended in thick air.

"I wouldn't want to wake up if it were me. Not with you sounding so awful."

"You don't know a thing about awful, you bitch. But keep talking, and I'll show you."

"Fine. Don't listen to me, _dog,_ but it won't be _my_ fault when she dies. It'll be yours."

Something cracks. The sound echoes loudly, reverberating off wood and followed quickly by the sound of Arya's angry, sharp footsteps heading gods know where. Quiet follows. Linette expects Sandor to get up and go after the girl, but he doesn't. She tries to get up herself, to makes sure Arya doesn't get herself killed, but nothing happens. Her limbs are too heavy. All she can do is wait.

Heavy, booted footsteps on floorboards is what she hears first. Sandor's footsteps. She'd recognize the hulking yet limber sound of him anywhere. His feet stop, followed by a soft crackling of wood being prodded in a hearth. They're in a room, she realizes. Heat billows, and Linette's body sighs in relief, not realizing until then how cold she was. It's suddenly all she feels. Cold. That, and a deep, constant throb of pain in her shoulder.

A heavy, woolen blanket falls over her then. It isn't fine by any means, clearly made of cheap linen, but Linette is thankful for it. The straw mattress she's laying on dips low underneath the weight of Sandor's brawn as he sits beside her. The calloused pads of his fingertips gently brush her forehead.

"You wake up, little bird." It's a clear order, one from the voice of a commander, but it lacks gruffness, instead falling hollow and weak in her ears.

"I said I'd get you somewhere safe, and I will." His hand moves from her forehead to settle lightly on her neck, over her pulse point. He lingers there, feeling the thrum under his fingers. He barely touches her skin as if afraid to apply too much pressure.

"Told you I wasn't a knight; I never took the vows. Never taken _any_ vows except the one I gave you…" He pauses before his voice grows harsh, growling angrily above her. "Don't you make me a liar, girl. Don't you _fucking_ dare."

Linette hears how his voice shakes just slightly. She feels his hand press flush against her skin, feeling her heartbeat more strongly.

Then, the door slams open and his hand is gone.

"What do you want?" he growls fiercely. The bed creaks as he turns his whole body toward the door as if hiding her from whoever stands there. It slams closed just as loudly as it had opened. Something metal is thrown to the floor before quick, light steps cross the room, heavier ones following after.

"Mysa and Travan said they'll do what they can until you come back with money or a doctor." Arya's news causes Sandor's body to stiffen.

"Fuck no," he snarls, "That's not happening."

"My father and I will take care of her, ser. It's the least we can do." The new voice, Mysa, is gentle. Feeble sounding, but honest.

"You couldn't take care of _yourselves_ ," Sandor spits. "The kingsmen would've raped you and left you for dead if it weren't for me."

"What other option do we have?" Arya grows frustrated.

"Take her with us."

"She'll die! I know that and so do you!"

The floorboards groan as Sandor vaults to his feet. "You saw those fuckers downstairs. You know what they were doing, and you know what they _would've_ done if Ihadn't slit their throats. That'll be _her_ if we leave her with these cunts."

"If you take her," Mysa's soft voice interjects hesitantly, "she may not make the journey."

"That infection will get worse," Arya hisses in agreement, her voice low but slowly growing closer. "Her arm will turn black, and you'll have to cut it off. If she doesn't die from shock or blood loss, then she'll die from a sickness on the road. We'll wake up one morning, and she'll be dead, and it'll be _all_. _Your. Fault!"_

A sickening slap cracks the air followed by a thud as Arya falls to the ground. Mysa squeals in fear, her feet shuffling over the floor. Linette fights to wake up, to help, but all she can do is listen to Sandor's menacingly slow, heavy footsteps as he stalks over the floorboards.

"I'll kill you." His voice shakes the room, low and dangerous, "Think I won't?"

Arya laughs hollowly. "Then how will you pay to fix her? You _need_ me. Stark silver is the only thing that'll help her, and you'll only get it fast enough if you leave her here."

There's a moment of stillness, only the crackling of the fire and Sandor's steady breaths audible. Then, Arya lets out a yelp followed by the sound of her feet kicking, scraping the floor as she's hoisted up. Sandor's chainmail rattles as Arya kicks and claws it.

"You think you're smart, do you?" Sandor growls in the lowest voice Linette has ever heard. It's nothing but predatory, sparking fear even in her. "I only need you for the silver. If she dies, then you're the one I'm coming after. Girl or not. I'll kill you. Don't care if your twat brother takes my head after. _She_ dies. _You_ die."

"Is that your plan?" Arya challenges, fire in her tone. Sandor laughs harshly. The low, menacing sound is followed by a thud as he drops Arya to the ground. A horrified scream echoes next, too high to be Arya.

"Let go!" Mysa yells out. There's a scuffle, feet dragging over the floorboards, the ring of a dagger's blade being unsheathed, and Arya's loud, but useless protests.

"No! Let her go!"

"Stop fucking moving," Sandor orders, clearly irritated, as he moves toward the door, dragging a weight along with him.

"Please, ser!" Mysa begs, tears in her voice. "I only meant to help! Let me go! Please!"

"Shut your mouth." The roughness is Sandor's voice warns of his rising temper, and Linette wills herself even more to wake.

"So that's your plan?!" Arya yells. The small girl's voice sounds much older than its owner truly is. "Rob the man? After everything he's done to help us?!"

"After everything _we've_ done to help _him!_ " Sandor bellows, the boom of his voice completely filling the room. He rages on, powerful and boiling. "I don't give a _fuck_ if this cunt or her father dies! Didn't when the soldiers had their hands all over her, and not now either. They're alive because of me, and I'm collecting."

"Fuck you!" Arya's scream mixes with Mysa's soft sobs, only slightly louder than Sandor's heavy-footed gait as he leaves the room. A man's urgent pleas join the commotion as the group reaches downstairs.

The noise grows louder: Arya and Mysa screaming; Sandor's rough commands over the father's protests. Clay dishes shatter somewhere as the chaos grows, shaking the walls and Linette's head with it. Her nerves cry out as she tries desperately to move, to stop whatever it is Sandor's started, but the effort only sends a ripple of pain in her shoulder. It flares, hot and constant even after she gives up. A whimper passes her lips, sweat dotting her skin and her body suddenly too hot when buzzing fills her ears.

She calms at the sound. The buzzing intensifies, and she listens hard, reaching out with everything other than her hands as she desperately searches for him in the air around her. The yelling downstairs crescendos louder and louder, and her searching becomes distressed, a pleading in her heart to find him.

Heart pounding and eyes-watering, she stills as a gentle touch falls on her cheek. The harsh screams continue, but she isn't focused on them; they fade into the background, to nothing more than a soft noise as all her attention is put into the feeling of the tender yet firm touch on her skin, moving to cradle her head in his hands. She leans into it, breathing a sigh of relief at the one man whose heart she knows fully, _trusts_ fully.

A breath on her temple rustles her sweat-soaked hair, and she almost believes him to be there with her, yet the constant, barely audible buzzing in her ears tells her otherwise. It isn't enough to quell her happiness however. She sinks into the feeling of him there with her, letting his presence completely overpower the chaos around her. Peace fills her, genuine and true although she knows it is no real assurance.

Though she was never truly awake, she feels herself slipping into rest. The touch on her skin lingers, warms as the muscles in her body relax, easing the pain of her injury to lessen. Delicious haze fills her head as she drifts to sleep, and, just before she falls, she hears his voice for the first time, strong and sure.

"I'll find you. _Both_ of you"


End file.
